


If He Only Knew

by ChaoticNeurosis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Everyone's Surprised, Idjits, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Multi, Nothing Established, Original Story - Freeform, Secret Daughter, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticNeurosis/pseuds/ChaoticNeurosis
Summary: She's the daughter he never knew about, but now that Amy is by herself, she's decided it's time to find this man her mother claimed is Amy's father.Amy's mom died three years ago, and the only thing she left regarding Amy's father was a piece of paper with a name and the last known state he lived in. So, packing up everything she owns, Amy begins the long drive from South Carolina to South Dakota, all the while trying to convince herself this is a good idea.And she learns a few things along the way about herself and about the man she is about to meet.
Relationships: Bobby Singer father/Original Character daughter, Bobby Singer/Original Character, Castiel/Original character, Dean Winchester/Original Character, Sam Winchester/Original Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Hit the Road, Jack

The engine groaned to life, the exhaust smoking behind leaving its carbon footprint on the world. I popped the trunk and shoved in the few remaining boxes and pieces of luggage before slipping behind the steering wheel. Everything I possessed was in the car. I had no intention on coming back to this town. The road was long, and it was one drive I wasn't looking forward to. The man was a stranger to me. Mom had only mentioned him a few times, but it was always with a fondness that distracted her for a few moments before slipping back to reality. She would quickly smile, turn around, and begin working on something to occupy her from the memories of the man who was supposed to have fathered me. 

"He didn't come across as kind when I first met him," she had said. "Of course, when I first met him he was carrying a sawed-off shotgun and hadn't showered in a few days. But he was protective. Sweet in his own way. Knew how to fix a car better than anyone I'd met. There are worse men out there, that's for sure." 

Mom had died a few years back, and the only clue she had left about my father's whereabouts was a name and the last state she knew he lived in. That was over 20 years ago. Who knew if he was still there or if he was even still alive? I had lived without him my entire life. Every birthday, I wondered if I would ever meet my dad. When I turned six, I had asked Mom if my birthday present could be a father. She stared at me with the saddest expression I had ever seen from her. She had stroked my hair, smiled down at me, and said, "Not this year, sweetie. I'm sorry." I didn't understand that she meant probably never. What did I have to lose by venturing out to possibly meet him? However, a more daunting question haunted my mind. 

Did he even know about me? 

Mom had never said if she wrote him or called him or whatever. That was her decision. If she thought it best for him to never be in our lives, then was it really a good idea for me to find him? Was he a bad man and she just tried to cover it up by feeding me lies so I wouldn't think my father was a despicable human being?

I shook the uncertainties from my mind and backed out of the driveway to head for the highway. This was something I had to do. He was my last tie to any family. Mom's side was long gone, and I was her only child. My father was the only blood I had left. So, I drove, cranked up the radio, and didn't look back. 

"I hope you're as good a person as Mom thought," I mumbled to the trinket hanging around my rear-view mirror. "I really hope..." 

It would be a long drive from South Carolina where Mom had moved us. We had lived all over the country, but when she got sick, our final destination had been a small town by the ocean. She would sit in her porch swing on the back deck and watch the ocean roll and the gulls dive through the sea spray. I would take her tea in the afternoons and sit with her. Mom never had a golden life. She struggled, but she always sacrificed to give me whatever I needed, plus a few special things for birthdays. It had always been just the two of us, Mom and Amy against the world, as we would say. 

* * *

A flashing 'Vacancy' sign lured me in for the night when I hit Quincy, Illinois. It was a cheap roadside motel, probably with roach infested rooms and mold caking the ceiling tiles, but it was a place to stay for one night after driving 14 hours with minimal stops. 

"Where ya headed?" a greasy old man asked from behind the check-in/out counter. 

I dug in my wallet for my credit card and slid it over. "South Dakota." 

He nodded as he ran the card and handed it back to me. "Beautiful country out there. Well, here's your room key, and don't be alarmed if you hear skittering in the ceiling. It's just the squirrels."

I tried to hide my shocked and slightly disgusted expression with a smile. "Uh, thanks."

"Have a good night, ma'am."

"Yeah," I replied, clipped and hesitant. 

_If you just kept driving, you could get there by noon tomorrow_ , I thought. _You wouldn't have to stay here to be eaten by the death squirrels._ But as horrible as death-by-squirrel sounded, sleep was beckoning. I could already feel my eyelids drooping the closer I walked to the room. 

As I unlocked and opened the door to the motel room, I was pleasantly greeted with the scent of Pine Sol and bleach. Turning on the light, I glanced at the ceiling. No mold. Hmm. Perhaps I had misjudged the place. But, as soon as I let myself get comfortable, a roach ran across the toe of my shoe, and I felt my skin crawl. The bed would be carefully inspected for bedbugs and any other creepy crawlies that lived in the more-than-likely infested habitat. 

The wi-fi password had been scratched into the corner of the table, so I opened my laptop and connected so I could open emails and check social media. I opened a background check website that I had been debating on using. The paper with his name sat in front of me on the table. I stared at it, fingers hovering over the keys of my computer, the wheels spinning in my mind. If I did this, would I regret what I found? Was it better to leave it alone? Should I just meet him instead of judging him based on the Internet? 

Opening Facebook, I typed his name into the search bar. Multiple hits came up, so I narrowed the search to only include profiles in South Dakota. 

Nothing.

I considered the background check again. This would be the only way I could prepare myself if he turned out to be a mass murderer or the town psycho. I didn't even know where I was going. If nothing else, it could give me the city he lived in. 

So I typed in his name. Clicked 'Submit.' And waited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up soon!  
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. What Are Friends For

  * DWI Arrest
  * DWI Arrest
  * DWI Arrest
  * DWI Arrest
  * Parole Violation
  * Breaking and Entering



The list went on as the results for "Robert Singer, South Dakota" flashed on my screen. Sighing, I clicked on the most recent record and searched for the city he had been arrested in countless times. 

"Of course you're a drunk," I mumbled. "What else would you be?" 

I ran my finger along the screen till I came across his last known address and wrote it down on the same paper Mom had scribbled his name on. Copying the text of the address, I pasted into Google Maps. As the results loaded, my eyes widened a little. 

"A salvage yard? Are you kidding me? Thanks for that info, Mom..." 

_She also may not have known_ , I reminded myself. 

I shook my head as I stared at the records. He had been arrested more times than I had moved towns, and he always managed to escape charges. How was that even possible? Some of the records were strange, too. Grave digging? What kind of psychopath did that? Before I could talk myself down from driving the remaining distance to Sioux Falls, I closed my laptop and stood, stretching my arms. I checked that the door was locked and began checking over my bed for any bugs that might bite me in the night. Finding none, I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth and brush out the shoulder-length black hair that lived on my head. 

It had been much longer at one point. Down to my hips. I loved the long, thick, soft locks and the compliments I received for having the patience to grow my hair out that long, although it was annoying during the heat of summer, always sticking to my neck or getting caught under my armpits. I had learned the art of quickly tying it into a bun on top of my head, but all that changed when Mom began losing her hair. One night while brushing the length of it to free it of tangles, I decided to cut it all off to make a wig for Mom. Her hair had been the most beautiful of brunettes with natural highlights of copper running through it. I missed it. The black of mine didn't compare, but she would have hair once again. When the wig had arrived, she looked at me and cried, wrapping me in the tightest hug she could muster. She never took it off. 

As the memory played in my mind, I felt the warmth of tears in the corners of my eyes, and I bit my bottom lip to prevent them from falling. I had cried over the past three years more than I'd ever cried before. Mom wouldn't want me to continue crying over her. She would more than likely say to me, "Amy-bear, there's no sense in crying. It won't change a thing. Now chin up, and if that doesn't work, then dance around in your underwear." It would make me giggle every time. Crying over Mom wouldn't change a thing. She was still gone. So I grabbed my phone, tapped the playlist titled 'Mama's Songs,' and danced around in my underwear as hits from the 80's and 90's flowed from the small speaker. It did make me feel better. And, in the smallest way, it felt like she was dancing with me.

* * *

The quality of sleep on the cheap mattress was something to be desired, but I felt rested enough to drive 7 hours to Sioux Falls from Quincy. I packed up the few things I had taken into the room, checked myself for bug bites, and left the nasty motel behind. It was an early start. 7:00 AM on a Sunday morning, but my hope was to beat most of the traffic. Of course, if I took the side roads, it wouldn't be near as bad. I checked out of the room and the greasy old man thanked me for my stay. When he asked if there was anything wrong with the room, I gave a tight-lipped smile and shook my head. 

"No. Everything was fine."

"Good!" he said, over-excited of the positive feedback. "Well, have a safe trip, now."

"Thank you." 

I started the cranky old car once more, stopped at a gas station for fuel for both of us, and headed back out on the open road. Google Maps had originally tracked the fastest route, but I chose as many side roads and detours as possible in order to stay away from heavy traffic and road-ragers. Besides, it was never possible to fully take in the splendor of the countryside on main highways. And it added more time, delaying the inevitable. 

I tried to distract my mind from replaying the records of Robert Singer, but it was all I could focus on in the end. What was I about to get myself into? Did Mom know he was a drunk? Or was that how I was conceived in the first place; were they both drunk? Mom had admitted to being a free-spirit and a wild child, but I never knew what that entailed. She didn't tell and I never asked. I figured if she wanted me to know, she would tell me. I had more questions than answers on Mr. Singer. The only way for me to get answers was to meet him. But I still wasn't sure if that was a good idea. 

"Get it together, Amy," I said to the emptiness of the car. "You've made yourself do worse, right? Kissing Gavin wasn't a good idea. He smelled like cheap marijuana and old cigarettes, but you did it anyway. And wreaked for half the week. You can do _this_." I stared out the windshield, white-knuckling the steering wheel. "You can do this," I added a bit more quiet. 

The road opened up before me. Wondering trails and quick S-curves tested my driving skills, but with each set of switchbacks, I smiled a little more. It began to be fun. The speakers blasted whatever playlist was open and I rolled down my windows, letting the wind whip my short hair around. I briefly touched the small pendant that hung around my neck as I edged closer and closer to my destination. It was a small silver sparrow sitting on a tree branch, a bright blue glass piece where it's heart would be. Mom had given it to me for my 16th birthday, saying it was a reminder to always be willing to fly wherever life led. Being comfortable was good, but change will inevitably come, and soaring over it will get me where I need to go. At this moment, it was a grounding tool. And a silent wish that she was in the passenger seat laughing as the car dashed around curves and bends. 

The first few notes of "Sister Christian" by Night Ranger began to play, and I reached for the volume nob, cranking it up. For some reason, Mom always loved this song and would belt it out no matter where she was. As the drums rang out leading up to the chorus, I prepared myself to belt it out for her. Before I knew it, I was laughing. 

* * *

I stopped for lunch and drove to an overlook that Google thought was a great place. It wasn't too bad, but it was a lake and it was Iowa somewhere near Polk City. I sat on the hard ground as I watched lake gulls dive bomb for small fish and boats zip by causing rooster tails of water to shoot up behind them. I wondered what their lives were like. Did they have any problems? Were they content with their stable lives, or were they secretly going through a catastrophe? Were they happy? These were my thoughts as I bit into the sub-par burger that desperately lacked any seasoning to speak of. The grasshoppers and cicadas were my loud friends as I continued contemplating the people in the world I watched. 

As I began to stand to get back in the car to continue driving, a stray dog wondered up. He eyed me with a mix of curiosity and caution, so I knelt down and reached my hand out, careful not to look him in the eye, indicating I wasn't challenging him nor was I threat. His ribs were showing slightly, and the old collar around his neck had frayed to the point it was about to come apart. 

"Hey, boy," I said softly. "Come here, sweetheart. Come on." I clicked my tongue a few times, trying to beckon him. 

He sniffed the air; was I going to hurt him or was I a friend? He took one step forward and sniffed again. 

"That's right. You're okay, sweet boy. Come on." 

I watched the decision in his eyes, and he fully approached me, tail slowly wagging. I stroked his head, the soft fur coated in a layer of dust. Removing the collar, I checked for a phone number or the name of a person to contact. There was nothing. It either fell off or it was never there in the first place. He seemed to be a mix of German Shepherd, lab, and a bunch of other breeds. He quickly licked my nose and I laughed. 

"Yeah, you're harmless, aren't you? Well what are we gonna do with you, huh boy? I can't just leave you here..." 

I looked at my car and back to the dog. 

"I do have room..." In a debate that lasted less than a millisecond, I opened my car door and patted the seat. "Up, up. Let's go for a ride, yeah?" He didn't hesitate, immediately jumping in and over to the passenger seat as I crawled behind the wheel. "Now, let's go get you some food and a new collar. What do ya say, boy?" I stared at him a moment. "And a name..." 

I shoved my sunglasses on and looked up the nearest pet store. The road trip became infinitely better in an instant. 

The pet store wasn't far, and I parked the car in the closest space, leaving the windows cracked for my new best friend. It wouldn't take long. Quickly making my way through the store, I grabbed a new orange collar, a long leash, and things I deemed essentials for a dog, like food and a couple new toys. At the last minute, I decided to buy a brush and a bag of treats. 

As the cashier rang all the items, she smiled over her glasses at me. "New dog?" 

I couldn't help but grin back. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." 

"That's always fun! What's his or her name?" 

"Him. And I don't know. I haven't gotten that far yet." 

I handed over my credit card and she smiled once more as she gave it back. "Well congratulations on becoming a dog parent." 

I laughed. "Thanks!" 

He was standing in the seat waiting for me and began barking as he saw me approaching. I opened the door and he jumped up on my chest, so I took the opportunity to snap on the new collar and leash. He jumped out of the car and sniffed around, exploring the new place. When he heard kibble clang against the metal bowl, he rushed over and began scarfing up the meal. 

"Yeah, I figured you were hungry." I took a water bottle out of the back of the car and poured the cool liquid into the other bowl. "There ya go, boy." 

As he ate, I took the time to take all the tags off his new toys and throw them into the front seat. I rolled up the food and placed it in the back along with the brush and bag of treats. 

"Now, what should I name you, huh? I wish I knew what it already was. It would be much easier that way." I ran over a few names in my mind, but none of them felt right. Then, it hit. Mom's favorite guitar. "Gibson," I mumbled. "How about Gibson, huh boy?" Of course, he didn't respond. "I think Gibson will do." 

I waited for him to finish up the food and take some sips of water, walked him to a grassy area for him to his business, then load everything up. 

"Let's go, Gibs. We have somewhere we gotta be..."

As Gibson chewed on the rubber ball, I scratched the space between his ears, and headed back out on the road. I didn't expect to pick up a straggler, but I was glad he showed up when he did. I needed a new friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up soon!  
> Thank you for reading! :)


	3. You Don't Know Me From Adam

10 miles out of town on a dirt road nervous fingers tapped a leather steering wheel. Gibson panted while staring out the window, oblivious to the anxiety that welled in my chest. My body shook, shivers running down my spine causing convulsions to radiate to my outer limbs. Deep breaths filled my lungs with oxygen, stretching my diaphragm. Robert Singer lived a few minutes down the highway. The piece of paper with his address rested on the middle console, staring me in the eye, daring me to put the car in drive and continue on my path. 

"Come on," I hissed to myself. "Let's go. Just get over it and do it." 

Gibson turned happy eyes toward me, blinking, silently encouraging me. Although, logically, I knew he simply reacted to the sudden voice, but I took it as encouragement. 

"Right..." 

Reaching for the gear shift, I put the car in drive and pulled away from the dirt road, turning left down the highway. I didn't know what I was going to say to him. There was no speech planned. No introduction. 

Gibson nudged my arm with a wet nose, demanding affection from his nervous human. It did make me smile. 

"Oh, Gibs," I sighed. "What would you do, huh? You're lucky. You didn't choose to meet a man whose only involvement in your life was to make it possible in the first place." I scratched the space between his ears, and he leaned into my hand. "I could just turn around now. Avoid this whole thing. That would be the easy thing to do, right? Turn out the best for everyone. He wouldn't ever have to know I exist. I never have to be potentially disappointed. Life could just go on the way it's always gone..." 

I continued trying to talk myself down from driving onto his property, but as the self-conversation continued, I saw the entrance to the salvage yard appear. A large sign composed of metal letters read, 'Singer Auto Salvage.' Stacks of rusting cars, hoods, rims, and vehicle memorabilia created a dirty mechanic aesthetic. My foot rested on the break petal as I stared at the worn blue exterior of the building that housed the man I shared nothing more than DNA with. Biting my lower lip, I slowly let off the break and edged forward. Gibson perked his ears, curious about the new place. Taking a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel, I drove to the front of the house and slowly put the car in park. 

The house was in rough shape, as if it's owner didn't care about curb appeal. Stacks of cars towered over my own, an eeriness passing down my spine. A blue tow-truck sat in front of the house, a sleek black classic car next to it. I swallowed, trying to keep my nerves down in my stomach where they belonged. 

"Well, Gibs..." I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. "This is it, I guess. You stay here. If it doesn't go well, expect us to be peeling out of here in five minutes."

I cautiously stepped out onto the bare ground, gently shutting the door, a curious Gibson staring out the window. His tongue flopped out and his ears perked. At least one of us was confident. Worn steps led to a small porch, and I stared at the door of the house. 

_Come on, Amy_ , I thought. _Just get it over with_.

Using the small amount of bravery that came forward, I climbed the stairs and knocked three times. I heard three male voices inside, arguing. One of them rose above the others. 

"Shut up!" it shouted. "Someone's at the door. Why don't you two get a beer and cool it?" 

Audible footsteps marched through the house and they became louder as they approached. I wrung my hands, trying to contain the anxiety. A man with a dirty ball cap and old flannel shirt opened the door. He had a scraggly beard and dirt under his fingernails. His eyes met mine and confusion immediately entered his expression. 

"Hello?" he said. His voice wasn't threatening. "Can I help you?" 

"Hi," I replied, short, clipped. "Uh. Are you Robert Singer?"

He cocked his head slightly, staring at me cautiously. "Yes. Who are you?"

"You obviously don't know me, but..." I took a deep breath and held it a second. "You knew my mother." 

His eyes held even more confusion. "Your mother? Look, I know a lot of people. Who are you, and what do you want?"

I stared at him, maybe for longer than socially acceptable because he seemed rather uncomfortable holding the door open to a complete stranger. "My mother was Mel Rivenwood." I paused. "And, according to her, you are my father." 

Robert Singer's jaw dropped slightly, pure shock glazing over his eyes, and he took a few steps back, diverting his gaze to the wooden floor. I dropped my head. Should I stay or should I get in my car and just leave, never come back, and pretend this never happened? He had blatantly never been told of my existence. He wasn't prepared for a surprise daughter, but would anyone be? 

"Bobby?" someone said from another room. A much younger man with short butterscotch hair walked around the corner, a beer in hand. He too wore a flannel shirt, but it was one color. His legs were bowed, and he would have been a few inches taller if they weren't. A five-o'clock-shadow and freckles graced his face. He took a sip of the beer and stared, perplexed. "Bobby, you okay?" he asked. 

"Uh," Robert, Bobby, whatever his name was, muttered. "Uh, give me a second." 

The younger man shrugged and disappeared back around the corner. 

"I'm sorry, maybe I should just go," I said. "It must be a bad time. You have company. I'll just go...You won't ever have to see me again." 

"No!" he almost yelled. "No," he added, much calmer. "Come in. Please." He stood to the side, holding the door further back, gesturing to the small entryway. "Please." 

I froze for a second then stepped forward into the home of a man I knew almost nothing about. He closed the door once I was inside, and he beckoned me forward. 

"Follow me." 

Warily, I followed him around the corner into the kitchen where the younger man and a very tall man stood, both leaning against the counter with a beer in hand. Glancing around, I immediately noticed all the books - stacks and stacks of books piled so high they blocked most things. There had to be thousands. I heard the scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor, and I snapped my attention to the sound. He had pulled out a chair. 

"Please," he said. "Please sit." 

"I'm good," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Thank you though." 

"Would you, uh...Would you like a beer or something to drink?" 

I nodded. "A beer sounds great." 

He quickly retrieved one from the fridge, popped it open, and handed it to me, and I immediately took a drink. 

"I'm sorry," said the freckled man from before. "But who is she? Who are you?" The taller one didn't say anything, but I could see the same question in his eyes. 

"Not now, Dean. In fact, why don't you two go for a drive for a while?" Mr. Singer, because I wasn't sure what to call him, indicated the direction of the door. 

"But, Bobby -"

"Now." 

The one named Dean slammed his beer down and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. "Yeah, okay. Come on, Sammy." When they were out the door, I heard the roar of an engine, and I glanced out a window. The classic car was theirs. Lucky.

"So..." Mr. Singer began. "I don't know what to say."

I nodded, taking another sip of the beer in my hand. "I don't either." 

He sat in the chair he had originally pulled for me to sit in, running a hand over the back of his neck. "You said your mom is Mel Rivenwood?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't heard, or thought of, that name in...years. That must have been..."

"25 years ago," I offered. "Maybe more, I don't know how long you knew Mom." 

He shook his head. "Not long. Maybe a month or so? But she never told me she was..." He just stared at me. 

"Yeah, I got that." It came across more harsh than intended, and I winced at my tone. 

"Uh...How did you find me?" 

I set my beer on the counter and dug in my back pocket for the piece of paper. "This. She had written down your name and the state she knew you lived in. I figured out the rest with a background check." I handed him the paper. "There was a lot on there."

"Oh, I'm sure. With as many times as Jody has arrested me..." He almost laughed. "Look, why don't you sit down? It'll make this whole thing more comfortable for me, at least."

"Yeah. Okay." I grabbed the beer again and sat opposite him. "I'm sorry, I never really introduced myself." I held my hand out. "Amy Rivenwood."

"Amy." He shook my hand. "Bobby Singer." I gave a tight-lipped smile and retracted my hand. He looked me over and a warm expression entered his eyes. "Well, you do look an awful lot like her."

"No, I'm not near as beautiful as Mom was."

"Was?"

I swallowed and glanced at the table. "She, uh...She died a few years back. Cancer." 

"I'm sorry, Amy. Wow..." He gave me the paper and leaned back in his chair. "Look, I know this don't mean much, but if I had known about you, I wouldn't have been absent this entire time. This is just...You don't expect a long-lost daughter to just show up at your door one day."

"I understand." 

Suddenly, a man with piercing blue eyes, black hair, and wearing a trench coat appeared behind Bobby, and I practically fell out of my chair. "What the hell?!" I screamed. "Where did you..."

Bobby turned around. "Cas!" he shouted. He glanced between me and the man. This Cas stared at me with the most intense expression I had ever witnessed or received. It was as if his eyes looked right through me into my soul. My mouth immediately went dry. I hadn't heard the door open or noticed him walk into the room. "Cas, what are you doing here?!" Bobby shouted again. 

"Where are Sam and Dean?" 

His voice was rough and incredibly deep. The question was almost monotone. I felt my heart rate increase exponentially, still in shock from his rather abrupt presence. 

"Well, don't _you_ know?" Bobby retorted. 

"No. Because of - "

"Right," Bobby interrupted. "They're in their car, Cas. On a drive. They'll be back in a little while. Why don't you wait for them in the living room?" Cas gave me a curious glance but walked to what I assumed to be the living room. "Sorry about that. He's just...really quiet." 

"Yeah..." I took another drink. "Right." 

"Look, Amy," he began. I could tell he wanted to tell me this wasn't a good time, but I saw the switch in his demeanor and he asked me something else. "Do you have a place to stay? I got a guest room upstairs. It ain't much, but I'm sure you're tired and the hotels in town aren't the best. At least stay the night and rest up." 

"Yeah, okay. I have a dog, I hope that's okay?"

"Of course." 

"Uh. Thanks. I'll just go get my stuff." 

"Do you need any help?"

"No. It's not much." 

"Okay. When you come back in, just go up the stairs and it's the second door on your right." 

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I took another drink from my beer and left it on the table, taking my car keys from my pocket, and going to get my bag of overnight things. As I began making my way out of the kitchen, I noticed a wall with a line of wireless phones, each one labeled: CDC, FBI, Sheriff, etc. Blinking a few times, I ignored them and continued outside. Gibson stood on the ledge of the door and barked at me when I walked out and down the porch steps. I opened the door and snapped the long leash to his collar, letting him run around and do his business while he sniffed out his new surroundings. I stood outside, leaning against the car for a few minutes, trying to process the man I just met. Bobby seemed nice enough, but that was first impression. Sometimes first impressions turn out to be incredibly wrong. I prayed I wasn't wrong about him.

"Come on, Gibson," I called and the sweet dog bounded after me as I carried my backpack into the house. Shortening the leash so he wouldn't wonder everywhere, Gibson and I walked up the stairs and found the guest room. It was nicer than I expected. A beautiful hand-made quilt covered the bed and there wasn't near as much dust as I assumed there would be. The curtains were drawn back and a bench sat just below the window. I threw my backpack onto the bed, and Gibson immediately jumped on the quilt, lying down and making himself right at home. "Anywhere is home to you, isn't it?" I scratched behind his ears and he rolled over onto his back, tongue flopping out to the side. "You're keeping me sane, boy. Don't ever change." 

Soon, a knock sounded on the door. 

"Yes?" I called.

"I guess you found the room okay." Bobby looked at Gibson and grinned. "Nice dog you got there. What's his name?"

"Gibson." The mutt almost smiled at Bobby. "Found him back in Iowa on the way out here, and I decided to keep him. Seemed he had been missing for a long time, anyway." 

Bobby fully walked into the room and sat in the chair in the corner of the room. "How far did you drive?"

"South Carolina."

"Long drive for someone you don't even know."

I nodded. "It was. But..." I paused and considered if the next sentence was worth saying. "As I saw it, you are my last tie to any family, so I took the risk to find you."

Bobby stayed silent for a few minutes. He sighed. "What's your plan now?"

"I don't know. That kind of depends on you, I guess. If you even want me to be in your life or if this too much. It's almost too much for me. There was a moment I almost turned around."

"Why didn't you?"

"Like I said. I don't have any other family. I figured DNA is _something_." I paused. "And I have nothing to go back to. Everything I've ever owned is in the back of my car right now."

"I see." 

"Bobby!" The voice I thought belonged to Dean called up the stairs. "Bobby, we need to talk!" 

"Dammit..." Bobby mumbled. "I'm sorry. One of these days that boy will learn not to interrupt me."

"Are they your sons?" I asked, not able to leave it unasked any longer. 

"Not by blood, but they're one of the closest things to family I got." He stared at me and flashed a grin. "But now I guess I actually do have family. Make yourself at home, Amy. I need to go deal with these idjits." 

He closed the door as he left, and I flopped back onto the bed, Gibson immediately licking my face. The first thing I did was find the bathroom. I needed a shower and I needed to relax. I knew this was strange for Bobby as well, but I was here. That was the first step, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With self-isolation, chapters may go up faster than originally planned. But with developing stories, inspiration may not strike for a while. :)  
> Thank you for reading, and if you want more, feel free to leave some love or a comment. It helps me know I'm doing something right.  
> Have an amazing day, y'all!


	4. Smooth Jazz McGee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost had this chapter completely finished, and I accidentally clicked out of the site without saving or backing anything up. After a few hours of complete rage, I sat back down. This isn't as good as what I had, in my opinion, but I hope you enjoy it.

Softly treading down the wooden stairs, white-socked feet tried not to make a sound. The warm shower had done its job to release stress and tension from my muscles, however my emotional state was still frazzled, and I remembered the half-drunk beer sitting on the kitchen table. I didn't want to interrupt any important conversation that could be happening, so I tried to stay as quiet as possible. Dean had sounded upset when he shouted up the stairs at Bobby, and, now around the corner from the kitchen, I could hear muffled voices and snippets of seemingly angry conversation. I looked around the corner. They weren't in the kitchen, which meant the meeting was in the living room. If I went for the beer, they would all see me.

"You're not doing this by yourself, Dean," I heard Bobby say. 

"Why not? I've dealt with much worse on my own. Besides, if anything goes south, Cas said he'll swoop in." Dean was audibly annoyed. 

"What if Cas doesn't get there in time?" It was a voice I didn't recognize, so there was only one other it could have belonged to: Sam. "What then, Dean?"

"I don't want you dead, boy," Bobby said.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Dean spat. 

_First_ time? What did that mean?

"It wasn't easy getting you out the first time, Dean. I don't know what it would take to retrieve you again," Cas said. 

"Well, that's just it. If I do end up kicking it, no one is bringing me back."

"Dean!" Sam retaliated. 

"No, Sam. Not this time." 

At that moment, I heard the distinct sound of claws clicking against wood, and Gibson dashed down the stairs, narrowly missing stacks of books as he bolted into the kitchen. Panicked, I ran after him, socked feet sliding on the smooth floor. "Gibson!" I yelled. "Gibson, get back here!" 

Four sets of startled eyes landed on me as I drifted around the corner. A happy Gibson had jumped up onto Sam, sniffing him all over. Sam stood in surprise, not returning the dog's enthusiasm. 

"I'm...I'm sorry," I stuttered. I grabbed Gibson's collar, dragging him away. "Come on, Gibs. I'm sorry. I'll just...I didn't mean to interrupt." Turning from the four men, I walked to the table and grabbed the thing I had originally been after. 

"Bobby, who is she?" Dean abruptly demanded, and I stopped in my tracks, closing my eyes and lifting my chin, sighing. 

My fingers slipped from Gibson's collar and he scurried to the couch, promptly claiming a cushion as his own. His happy eyes did not reflect the mood of the room. Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and took a breath. 

"Boys, maybe you should sit down," he said. 

"Bobby, we - " Dean began, but was cut off. 

"I said sit, Dean." 

Sam and Dean sat in the chairs that faced Bobby's desk, and I awkwardly shuffled into the living room, feeling the all weight of curiosity on my shoulders. Dean's eyes were defensive and demanding, needing the know who I was and what I was doing there. Sam's appearance was calmer and more kind, his manner more of interest than resistance. Cas stood in the corner of the room, his expression much the same as it was when I first saw him. Bobby sat in the chair behind the desk in the room and poured himself a drink. 

"First of all, Amy, this is Dean Winchester and his brother Sam. You already met Cas. Boys, this is Amy Rivenwood." Sam gave a brief nod, but Dean showed no reaction, continuing to stare me down. "I knew Amy's mom a long time ago." He paused, uncertain how to continue. "Uh. I guess the only thing to do is to just say it." Bobby threw back the remainder of his drink. "Boys, Amy is my daughter." 

"Your - your _daughter_ ," Sam stammered, leaning forward in his chair as if trying to discern if he heard Bobby correctly. 

Dean stood and paced a few steps, stopping and facing me. "How long have you known?" His question was meant for Bobby.

"I just found out today, Dean," he replied. "Do you really think I'd try to hide this from you boys?"

"Weren't you?" Dean turned toward Bobby. "She showed up and you didn't think to tell us?"

"Look here, sonny, I didn't expect for a daughter I never knew about to just show up on my doorstep while you're facing some earth-shattering problem!" 

As the volume in the room increased, I began taking a few steps back. "You obviously are in the middle of something much more complicated than me, so I'll just be going. Come on, Gibson." I patted my leg and the dog jumped off the couch, following me back up the stairs. 

"Dammit, Dean!" I heard Bobby shout as I ascended the steps to gather my things.

Luckily I hadn't set out many articles. I shoved everything back into my backpack, wrapped my jacket over my arms, and clipped Gibson's leash to his collar. I put my shoes on and walked down the stairs. I was almost at the door.

"Amy, wait!" Bobby yelled. I stopped, turning around and crossing my arms. "Look, I'm sorry. I can't imagine what's going through your head right now. I can barely wrap my own head around this entire deal, but please, don't leave. Dean...Well Dean is Dean. He's all defensive and standoffish when he first meets someone, but he's a really great kid once he gets to know you. Just give him time. He'll come around. We're all a little surprised." His eyes pleaded. "Just stay. Please." 

"One condition. What did I hear before Gibson ran in and interrupted your little meeting?" 

"You wouldn't stay if we told you." 

"Try me." 

Bobby sighed. "You sure?"

"Yes." 

He turned around. "Come on." As we entered the living room again, Bobby pointed at the line of alcohol. "Want a drink? It may help." 

"Yeah, I think I need it. What'cha got?" I asked, sitting on the couch, Gibson joining me and resting his head on my lap.

"Tequila, whiskey, vodka...Pick your poison."

"Whiskey, neat." Bobby filled a glass with the amber liquid and gave it to me. I threw it back and held the glass out, indicating a needed refill. He snickered and obliged, filling the glass a little higher than before. I took a sip and gestured for Bobby to begin explaining. "Well?"

"What exactly did you hear?" 

"Something about Dean dying and that it wouldn't be the first time. And bringing him back wouldn't be so easy." 

The four men were silent, none of them offering an explanation. Dean leaned against the opening between the living room and the kitchen, holding a bottle of beer. He took a drink when I looked up at him, obviously uncomfortable. Sam scratched the space behind his ear, and Cas remained in the corner, unmoved since the charade began. Sam then moved to the couch, sitting on the other side of Gibson. 

"It's not as easy as you would probably like it." Sam tried to smile but failed. Was this really as stressful as the atmosphere suggested? "My brother and I, and Bobby...sometimes Cas...We're Hunters."

"Like...deer and moose?"

Sam sighed, tense. "Not exactly. What we hunt isn't conventional. Think of every monster or supernatural entity you've ever heard of or imagined. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, and anything that goes bump in the night. That's what we hunt. We track them, kill them, and save people in the process. It's our job." 

I stared at him. "Monsters." After a few seconds of letting his words sink in, I stood and began for the door again. "You're right, Bobby. I do want to leave. You are all clinically insane! I should have never come here."

"Amy, wait," Bobby began. 

"I'm sorry, but if you think this is normal, that monsters are real, you need some help." 

"I can prove it," Dean said, and I spun to face him. 

"You can what?"

He set his beer down. "Follow me." 

Against my better judgement, I followed Dean outside. He opened the trunk of the beautiful classic car, and I immediately noticed a pentagram drawn into the roof of the trunk. My instinct to run kicked in, and I almost dashed toward my car. But then he pulled on the false bottom and propped it up with a gun. My eyes widened as I gazed at the contents. It was everything I would associate with voodoo: wooden stakes, a crucifix, a rosary, cloth bags of who-knows-what, and multiple weapons. As I stared, Dean dug around for something, and when he found it, he shut the trunk and set a box on the car, pointing at it. 

"Take a look," he said. 

"What is it?"

"Just look in the box." 

Cautiously, I opened the flaps of the cardboard to see what was inside. When I peered inside, shock and adrenaline shot through my veins. It was a severed head, eyes glazed and hazy, completely lifeless. It had rows of serrated teeth, and Dean reached down, tugging on them. They didn't come off. It wasn't fake. Blood pooled at the bottom of the box, and I immediately felt my stomach jolt. I ran to the nearest grass patch, fell to my knees, and vomited up bile. In that instant, I was thankful my hair was much shorter than it used to be. I felt a hand on my back, and I turned to find Sam kneeling next to me, rubbing soothing circles across my back. My nose stung and tears filled my eyes as the contents of my stomach ejected themselves. 

"Nice going, Dean!" I heard Bobby yell. "What's in that box anyway?"

"Vampire head." 

"Well, why the hell do you have that?"

"I have my reasons." I heard Dean slam the trunk again, and I assumed the box was back in the car where it belonged. 

When my stomach stopped rolling, Sam helped me back inside the house. He guided me to the kitchen where he filled a glass with water so I could rinse my mouth out, and he dampened a paper towel to wash my face with. 

"You okay?" he asked, genuine concern lacing his words. 

"No. No, I'm not. That was a vampire?" 

"Yep," Dean offered as he joined Sam and I in the kitchen. "They're not as shiny as Hollywood would have you believe." 

"So...everything is real? Demons, the bogeyman...all of it?" 

"Everything, sweetheart. And our friend Castiel over there? He's an angel." 

"A _what_?" 

"A real, bonafide angel. They're more dickish than you'd think."

"I need to sit down before I puke all over you, Sam..." I rushed for the closest chair and leaned over, placing my head between my knees, taking deep breaths. 

"Good job easing her into it, Dean," Bobby snapped as he walked back into the house. "Smooth!"

"Hey, she was going to leave. Did you really want that?" Dean retaliated. 

"No, I didn't. Listen, Amy, I'm sorry. It's a lot to take in." 

"Yeah, it is." Then a realization hit me. "Is that why Mom said you were carrying a sawed-off shotgun when she first met you?"

"For the record, I was under the impression that house was empty. I didn't think someone would be squatting in it." Bobby paused. "But yeah. I was hunting a ghost and ran into your mom. She helped me dig up the grave and burn the bones."

My eyes shot up. "Burn the what?" 

"Good one, Bobby!" Dean called from the living room. 

"That's how you kill a ghost, by digging up the grave and salting and burning the bones. She ran on the road with me for about a month on a few more ghost cases. Then one day she just...up and left."

"Great. I'm the lovechild of a ghost hunter and a hippie. That's fantastic. Just...fantastic." I paused a moment. "So this is your problem? Some monster?" I asked. 

Bobby sighed. "Not exactly."

"What is it?" 

"Something a lot less holy. Do you really want to hear about it?" 

"I won't be much help, but why not? I meet my father and learn that every monster I've ever heard of is real all in one day. Yeah, it can't get much worse, can it?" 

Sam helped me up from my chair and I flopped down on the couch again. He walked to the impromptu bar and poured a tall, stiff drink. Upon the first sip, I discovered it to be tequila. As the three men and angel talked over the situation, I kept drinking, and the glass was steadily refilled. Anything they said went over my head. I was still reeling at the sight of a severed vampire head casually in a box in the back of someone's car. My brain went on overload, and every creepy feeling I'd ever had made me second guess what caused it. Because of the consistently refilled tequila, I dozed off. 

* * *

I woke to find someone had draped a blanket over my me as I slept. Gibson lied on the floor, keeping guard. I scratched his ears and stood, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders as I walked to the kitchen. I searched the cupboards for a glass and filled it with water. 

"Hey." The sudden deep voice jolted me, and I turned around to find Dean in sweatpants and a grey v-neck. 

"Hi," I replied, clipped. 

"I want to apologize about earlier," he began. "It was a bit brutal, what I did. Sorry about that." 

"What time is it?" I asked, ignoring his apology. 

"Somewhere around 2:00."

"What are you doing up?" I took a sip of the water in hand. 

"Can't sleep. Needed a little aid." He dug in the fridge and extracted a beer, popping it open and taking a swig. 

"Well, I think I'll actually head to bed." I paused, then added, "Goodnight, Dean." 

He stared at me with a much softer expression than what I received when I first met him. "Night, Amy." 

"Come on, Gibson." The mutt stood and followed behind, drowsy from being woken up. I shut the door of the guest room once I was inside, and crawled under the sheets. As I tried to fall asleep again, images of every monster I'd ever heard of flashed through my mind, and I didn't rest easy knowing all of it was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much for reading!  
> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, please throw some love or leave a comment. Let me know I'm doing something right!  
> Have an amazing day, y'all!


	5. These Memories Still Remain

The smells of breakfast wafted from downstairs, and my nose twitched in response. Saliva began to pool as my stomach impersonated a whale call. Gibson pawed at the door, whining, informing the entire house it was time to get up so he could go outside. 

"Alright, boy. Hold on," I said as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, slipping into my worn tennis-shoes. Clipping the leash on to Gibson's collar, I took him downstairs and out the door, struggling to keep up with the urgency he was feeling. He sniffed around the surroundings, stopping to investigate a few strange or unknown scents, before finding the most suitable place to make his daily deposit. "Ya done yet?" I called, and he bounded back, rushing to the door and sticking his nose directly against it. It was time to go back inside. The two of us went up to the guest room so I could change from my worn pajama shorts into something a little more suitable to greet everyone in the house, especially considering they were all men. It was then that it donned on me; including Gibson and Cas, I was outnumbered 5 to 1. 

The happy-go-lucky mutt followed me to the kitchen where bacon sizzled on the stove top. Bobby stood as master chef of the morning, tongs in hand at the stove. Sam sat at the table, laptop open with a few books accompanying. Cas wasn't anywhere obvious, but he may not even be around. Sensing a new presence, Sam turned around and gave me a greeting smile. 

"Hey, Amy," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Uh..." I scratched the back of my neck. "Define 'well'." I stared at Sam, studying him, as the chaos of the previous day prevented me from truly seeing _anyone_. 

His hair was darker than Dean's, and it had grown almost past his shoulders. His eyes were curious and sympathetic, with a twist of urgency behind everything, and they were a shade of hazel I hadn't seen before. They changed color depending on how the light hit them. He hadn't shaved for a few days, and a scruff defined his jaw. I blinked, diverting my attention to the cooking food. 

"So, uh..." I began, "what's for breakfast?"

"Classic Americana," Bobby replied, turning and flashing a tight grin. "We got bacon, eggs, toast, and everyone's favorite: coffee. I don't have any cream." 

"Black's fine," I said, taking a coffee cup and filling it to the brim. Gibson had found the source of cooking food and had glued himself to Bobby's leg, hoping something might fall. I took a seat across from Sam, sipping from the steaming liquid. "So what's all this?" I asked, gesturing at the books.

"Uh, research for...for Dean's situation. I'm trying to see if there's anything we can do to prevent it or at least slow it down."

"How long have you been up?" 

"Since about 4:30 this morning. I didn't sleep much, so instead of just lying in bed, I decided to jump into the lore, see if anything could help. But so far, there's nothing. At least, from what I've looked into. There may be something, who knows. In all fairness, we've faced worse and came out okay."

I was shocked to hear him say they had been in worse situations. "You've faced worse than life or death?" 

"It sounds weird, but yeah. Kind of." 

I heard hard footsteps bumbling down the stairs, and Dean walked around the corner, head full of disheveled hair and a face that had more than just a few day's scruff accompanying the freckles. He ran a hand over his eyes and immediately zeroed in on the coffee maker. When he had filled a cup with as much coffee as it could hold, he joined Sam and I at the table. Dean held the mug like it was the most precious thing in the universe. I took this opportunity to further study Dean's features. When he opened his eyes, I noticed the unmistakable shade of green, flecks of gold on the outer edges of his irises. A set of dimples appeared on either side of his lips when he pouted, which he was currently doing. And his hair, although very messy, was still the butterscotch shade I had noticed upon first meeting him.

He was hunched, almost protectively, over the coffee in his hands and he took a sip, exhaling as he swallowed. He went right back to pouting. 

"Good morning," I said, trying to hold back an amused smile. 

"It's morning. I'm not sure it's good." He drank from the coffee again, closing his eyes. 

"Are you hung over?" I asked. 

"No. Dean's not what you would call a morning person," Bobby answered. "Never has been. He can be a bit of a grouch, but sometimes that carries over into the rest of the day." 

I almost laughed as Dean shot Bobby a glare, but I held it in, afraid of what look I might receive from the grumpy man. 

"Alright. It's done," Bobby said as he turned off the stove. "Help yourselves." 

Sam stood to plate his breakfast, but stopped and looked back. "Guests first," he insisted, gesturing toward the small stack of plates on the counter. 

I smiled. "Thanks." I didn't hesitate. My stomach had been growling from the moment I woke up, and I could almost hear my taste buds ordering me to shovel in the food. It took Dean a few minutes to stand, still groggy. I held back another giggle, knowing how he felt. 

* * *

"Sammy, you got everything?!" Dean called from outside. 

The boys had packed up the car, ready to head out. Sam had found a possible solution to the immediate problem, and they decided to check it out. After consulting with Castiel, the mission was a 'go'. 

"Yeah! Just a minute!" Sam yelled back to his brother. 

I stood on the porch as backpacks and duffle bags were thrown into the Impala, as Dean had informed me of the make of the car shortly after breakfast. Crossing my arms and standing to the side, I tried to remain out of the way. Then the sound of wings made me look to my left, and Castiel's bright blue eyes were boring into me again. 

"Holy crap!" I jumped, the sudden presence making my heart pound. "Do you always do that?"

"Apparently," Cas said, monotone and gravelly. He walked off the porch and approached Dean. They exchanged a few words then Cas was gone again. I shook my head, blinking, still not used to angels being real. 

Dean sauntered back into the house, trying to round Sam up. "We ready?" he asked. 

"Yeah. I think so." 

The brothers walked outside and down the stairs. Bobby stood on the porch and watched them. 

"You boys be careful," he warned. "Come back in one piece this time."

"We'll do our best, Bobby." Sam nodded and crawled into the passenger side. 

"Can't promise anything, Bobby," Dean added. He looked at me. "It was good to meet you, Amy. Hopefully this isn't the last time we see each other." 

"Yeah, you too," I said. "Good luck."

"Thanks." With a final glance at Bobby, Dean got behind the wheel and the engine roared to life. He slammed the door shut and took off down the road. 

With a sigh, Bobby reentered the house and cleaned up the dishes. I lingered outside a few moments. Walking into the kitchen, I refilled my coffee cup and sat at the table once again. 

"So, this is normal for all of you? Constant life or death?" I asked. 

"Yeah, you could say that. Something like this is never a sure thing. Sometimes you just gotta take the chance and pray it all works out." Bobby joined me at the table, sitting across from me, lounging back in the old chair. "But there seems to be a weird pattern with those boys. The major stuff always finds them. It's more than the usual ghost or vamp. These days its astronomical." He sipped from a cracked coffee mug, his eyes a million miles from the dot on the map we sat in. "Anyway. So..." I could see him fighting to find a change of subject. "So, what's your life been like? I'm sure with someone like Mel Rivenwood for a mother it had to be interesting."

I grinned, Mom's always joyful face flashing in my mind. "It was probably a little more free than most kid's upbringing. Mom moved us everywhere. I don't think we stayed in the same town for more than two months at a time. She would find something else to do, and we would pack up and head out. I learned not to have too many things, since it would all have to fit in the back of a car sooner or later. But...she always worked hard. I never went without anything." 

"You must miss her."

I nodded. "I do. Every day." I touched my necklace. "But she's with me wherever I go. If anything, she taught me not to take life too seriously. To find joy in the smallest things." I paused, taking a drink of coffee. "What do you remember most about Mom?"

"Well, probably not the same things you do." 

We shared a short laugh. 

"Like I said yesterday, I met Mel under an unusual circumstance. I never expected her to come with me, but she insisted. To her, it was an amazing adventure. She was so excited when she killed her first ghost that she danced around the fire. I'll admit, in that moment, I thought she was certifiably crazy, but that's just how Mel was - a soul no one could hold down or suppress." Bobby paused, sipping from the coffee. "So, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I'm more grounded than Mom was. Although I do enjoy many of the same things; things like painting, pottery, nature, nomadic lifestyle, and all that. However, when we finally landed in South Carolina, I did enjoy staying in the same place for more than a few months. We ended up living there for five years. It was the closest thing to a home I'd ever had, but I'll admit - it was good just to drive when I decided to come up here." I laughed. "We actually lived just over the state line at one point. Now I wonder if she was trying to work up the courage to come find you, tell you about me. Obviously she never did." I smiled. "So, what about you? What do you enjoy?"

"Oh, I'm simple. Hunting is my life, but I'm a fairly decent mechanic."

"I never would have guessed from all the cars lying around."

He flashed a grin. "Yeah. The scrap yard is mainly a cover-up." A phone began ringing, and Bobby sighed. "And so it starts." He stood and picked up one of the many phones on the wall. "FBI, Agent Willis....Yeah, Richards is one of ours. Is there a problem?.....Do I need to remind you FBI trumps local jurisdiction?.....Yeah, you have a good day too." 

I stared in pure confusion and concern. As Bobby turned around, he saw my troubled expression.

"It's part of the job. Usually we have to get in on local police cases, so many of us pose as FBI, U.S. Marshall, or any other government agency. When the police are resistant, one of our guys gives them a knock-off supervisor number to call, and that's me. I stay here, answer phones, get our people in, and do a lot of research when I'm not actively hunting anything."

"Some of those crime charges make a lot more sense now."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm sure they do. Listen, I got a lot of books to look through, so..."

"Do you need any help?"

"No, that's alright. I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for anyway. But if you'd like to stay for a while, you're more than welcome. I'm still getting used to the whole...daughter thing."

I smiled. "I'd like to stick around. Thank you, Bobby."

"You're welcome." 

He refilled his coffee cup and walked to the living room, sitting behind his desk again. He immediately slammed a stack of books on the top of the desk, grabbing the first one, and rifling through it. My head spun from the countless possibilities that were newly opened to me. Whatever Bobby was looking for, I knew it was out of my wheelhouse. It was best for me to provide the coffee refills, which he thanked me for throughout the day. It was strange, seeing the contrast of my mom and Bobby. He was so much more sure of himself, knew his place in life, while Mom would drift from place to place, and I don't think she knew her purpose in life. It was going to take time to get used to Bobby's way of life. If I played my cards right, I hoped he would let me stay forever. I had no other place to go, and he was my only family. Even if his line of work was a bit unorthodox. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you liked this and would like to see more, feel free to throw some love or leave a comment. Let me know I'm doing something right!  
> Have a fantastic day! :)


	6. Vigilante Man

I sat on the couch, whiskey tumbler in hand, reading through some books Bobby had suggested so I could learn the basics of monster lore. The one currently on my lap contained 'beginner's information' to the menace of rugarus, as Bobby dubbed it. But was there really such a thing as beginner's information when it came to monsters? I had already read through ghosts and vengeful spirits, demons, and shapeshifters, surprising myself at the interest I had taken in it and surprised at how many things didn't tolerate iron and salt. Gibson had enjoyed the long walks through Bobby's property, smelling everything to his heart's content as I processed information on the new monster of the week. I was beginning to settle into my new routine. 

Stretching my stiff shoulders, I stood to refill the whiskey glass when the front door crashed open and frantic footsteps rushed into the living room. "Sam?!" I said, shocked at seeing him drag Dean inside. "Oh my gosh. Sam, what happened?!" 

Dean was unconscious, and I had to focus just to see if he was breathing. Blood dripped down his face, and purple bruises marked his cheeks and eye. His lip was swollen, and crimson had pooled inside his lower lip, overflowing down his chin. His clothes were ripped, and his shirt almost seemed singed. Or maybe it was just dirt. Either way, the older brother was flirting with the other side of life. Again.

"Here, get him to the couch," I urged, moving my things out of the way, throwing books to the side so Sam could set Dean down. 

"Amy? What's going on?" Bobby called as he ran down the stairs. "Sam?" He looked between Sam and Dean, catching up to the situation. "My god, what happened?" 

"Let's just say it went south," Sam said, rushing to get the first-aid kit from under the kitchen sink. 

"Where's Cas?" Bobby asked. 

"I don't know! I called him over and over, but he never showed!" Sam hovered over his brother, opening the kit and rifling through. "Bobby, where's the stiches?"

"Hang on." Bobby disappeared.

"Help me," Sam said, and he handed me a pair of scissors. "Cut his shirt off." 

I almost hesitated, but I cut the black t-shirt, starting at the base of his torso and moving up. Moving the fabric to the side, large lacerations were revealed in his abdomen, oozing blood. I wondered if they were too deep to fix without a professional's touch. I swallowed, trying not to vomit at the sight of so much blood on one individual. So much blood _leaving_ one individual. Dean's breaths were becoming more and more erratic, more shallow. 

_Castiel, wherever you are, we could use your_ _help,_ I thought. 

Bobby reappeared with a small bag and Sam grabbed it from him. "What do you need help with?" Bobby asked, a business-like tone entering his voice.

"Uh...Hold him down. If he wakes up, he's not going to be a big fan of this."

"Right. I'll get his arms. Amy, sit on his legs." 

I climbed onto Dean's legs, trying to adjust my weight so equal pressure was distributed. Sam grabbed a bottle of tequila. 

"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered, and poured the alcohol over his brother's abdomen. As it pooled over the deep gashes, Dean's eyes flew open and he screamed, trying to fight his way out of the situation. He threw his head back and groaned. 

"Sit still, boy," Bobby said, doing his best to hold Dean down. 

The older Winchester thrashed as Sam continued to sterilize the wound. Hand sanitizer in a paper cut hurt like a mother - I couldn't imagine tequila singeing ripped flesh like this. When the bottle was mostly empty, Sam began stitching his brother back together, centimeter by centimeter. Dean eventually passed out again from the pain, but his breathing was more even than before. He lied there as Sam snipped the last suture, and he stepped back. I immediately placed layers of gauze over the wound and taped them down. Sam walked to the kitchen to wash his brother's blood from his hands. I picked up the supplies, placing them back in the first-aid kit, and returned it under the sink when Sam had finished. As he dried his hands, he stared at Dean. 

"I hope he pulls through," he mumbled. "Thanks for the help, Amy." 

"Of course, Sam." 

He set the towel down and walked outside. I didn't follow. If it were me, I would want a few minutes to myself. Instead, I filled a bowl with warm water and knelt next to Dean's unconscious form. I slowly cleaned the blood from his face, being careful not to apply too much pressure as to not wake him. If he slept, he didn't feel anything. Judging from Dean's strong and steady heart rate, he seemed stable enough. I dabbed at each patch of dried blood till most of it was gone, then I added ice to a Ziploc bag, holding it to his swollen eye and lip, alternating between the two. When the ice turned to water, I poured it down the drain and leaned against the counter. Bobby soon joined me after he had talked to Sam, who was still out by the car. 

"Hey," Bobby greeted.

"Hey. So, is this common?" I asked. 

"Unfortunately. Someone's always getting stitched up, on the brink of death." 

It had been a little over a month since Sam and Dean left, investigating their possible lead. Bobby hadn't heard much, and he was too afraid to call and ask. In that time, Bobby had filled me in on part of the brothers' lives. It certainly had been hectic. They were always in some sort of trouble. 

"Do you think he'll make it?"

"Dean? He's been to hell and back, literally, so compared to that, this is nothing." Bobby tried to pass off the situation, but I saw the intense worry in his eyes. "Damn, I sure hope he will...I don't know what it'll do to Sam if he dies." 

"How _is_ Sam?"

"Rattled. But that's to be expected. He'll be okay. Just needs to take a breath is all." 

"Right." 

After watching Dean a few more minutes, I walked out onto the porch, the screen door slapping shut behind me. Sam turned at the sound and flashed a momentary forced grin. Cautiously, I approached him as he stared out into the sea of rusting cars. 

"Hey," I said. "You okay?"

He didn't react at first, simply holding a steady gaze with the piles of vehicles. "I don't know. Everyone told Dean this was a suicide mission, and he didn't listen. As usual." He paused and chuckled - a cynical, angry chuckle. "For once I just wish he'd stop and consider different options, you know? He finds one solution and gets fixated. And I don't know if he wanted to come out alive this time. It doesn't seem like he did." Sam scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. "But that's just Dean I guess." He turned and faced me. "Sorry, I'm sure you didn't want to hear all that."

"It's okay, Sam. Really."

"It's just, you don't really know us and..."

"Sam. Don't worry about it. It's okay." 

He flashed that forced grin again. "Thanks, Amy." He patted my shoulder and walked back inside the house. 

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. A relaxed day had turned stressful in less than a heartbeat. 

As I returned to the living room, I saw an exhausted Sam sitting vigil next to Dean. I shook my head, sympathetic for their situation and sorry that Sam was already so tired, although he was willing to do what ever it took to ensure Dean lived. "Sam. Go get some rest. I can stay up with him tonight, okay? You need sleep." 

"Amy - "

"Go," I interrupted, insisting that he rest. He desperately needed to. "I don't mind. If he wakes up before morning, I'll come get you. I promise. Just go get some rest, Sam." 

I could see the debate behind those hazel eyes, but he eventually nodded, standing up. "Okay. Thanks again."

"No problem." 

Sam disappeared upstairs. It was 7:00. With a long night ahead of me, I picked up the books I had thrown aside and formed a neat reading pile on Bobby's desk. I refilled the whiskey as I tried to do before the brothers stormed into Bobby's house. Raising my eyes every now and then from my book, I remained by Dean's side through the night. And Cas never showed up. 

* * *

It was early, maybe 5:30 in the morning, when Bobby began making coffee. Dean still slept, showing no sign of change from the day before. I had finished my "reading assignments" hours earlier and had resorted to curling up in my chair with a blanket, watching the steady rise and fall of Dean's bare chest. Dare I confess it, Dean was incredibly handsome. 

"Hey," Bobby greeted quietly as he stepped into the living room, two mugs in hand. He handed me one and I took a sip, thankful for the life giving qualities of black coffee. "Anything?"

I shook my head, still watching the Winchester. "No. But no change is still good." 

"Yeah. As long as he ain't dead." Bobby eyed the stack of books now in the 'finished' corner of the room. "Done already?"

"Rugaru, check. Ghouls, check. Werewolves, check. And Wraiths, check." I smiled up at him. "What's next?"

Bobby chuckled and patted my shoulder. "I'll get that to you after a while, kid." He disappeared around the corner and I heard the basement door open. Whatever it was he needed to work on, I wasn't sure I wanted to know the extent of the project. I had ventured into the basement once, and it was an entirely different world. 

I continued drinking from the coffee, watching the broken Hunter breathe, ready to jump up if something went wrong. 

Luckily, that moment never came. It wasn't long after Bobby went downstairs that Dean's green eyes fluttered open. At first he was confused, quickly checking his surroundings, but when he tried to sit up, he immediately regretted it. 

"Hey," I said, softly. "Easy. You're pretty banged up." 

His eyes snapped to the direction of my voice and he settled into the couch when he confirmed I wasn't a threat, recognition a waterfall over his face. 

"Hey..." Dean began. "Where's Sam?"

"Sleeping."

"Bobby?"

I tilted my head toward the basement door. "Workshop."

"You been here all night?"

I nodded. "Yep. Someone had to make sure you didn't kick it." 

"Is that coffee?"

"Want some?"

"Please."

Smiling, I stood and retrieved a cup of coffee for Dean. The once gruff and defensive man was now much more kind. From what Bobby had told me, Dean didn't trust strangers, and he would rather shoot first, ask questions later. It's understandable from his standpoint - you never know who's out to kill you. 

I helped Dean sit up, his injuries causing him to inhale sharply or let out a pained groan, but he wedged himself into a corner just so he could drink from the substance in his hands. 

"Thank you," Dean said, gently. "You know...for staying up and letting Sammy sleep."

"You're welcome, Dean." 

He looked me in the eyes, holding my gaze for a few seconds longer than normal before ripping his attention away, staring at his coffee cup. 

"So...Bobby's your dad, huh? Small world." 

"Nice conversation change." I laughed, but indulged him. "Yeah. Still getting used to the idea of having a dad. Although, Bobby's not exactly what I pictured when I was a kid, but I'm starting to see the similarities." 

"Well, if its any consolation, you look nothing like him." He tried to wink but winced instead, his eye still somewhat swollen and definitely still bruised. 

I smiled and held back a laugh. "Thanks, I guess." 

A set of large feet padded down the stairs and around the corner appeared the tall Sam Winchester, his hair ruffled and a total mess. Bedhead suited him. He rubbed at his half-closed eyes and stared at Dean. 

"Dean!" he almost yelled. "You're awake!" He turned toward me, some frustration in his hazel eyes. "Why didn't you get me up?!" 

"Calm down, Sammy." Dean cleared his throat as he edged Sam away from anger. 

"Because it happened maybe 10 minutes ago," I answered, coming to my own defense. "Would you like some coffee, Sam?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Sam then sat behind the desk after I stood up, stealing my seat. I tried to ignore it as I handed him his beverage. "So, how ya feeling?"

Dean gave a halfhearted grin. "Like I got strapped to a train that crashed into a giant concrete wall. So, I'm great." 

Bobby soon joined us, and he expressed his relief at seeing Dean awake and talking. The three men began talking about whatever it was that Dean had rushed head first into, and the volume level increased increment by increment until I couldn't stand it anymore. I decided to take a walk around the salvage yard, but when I turned around, an angel in a trench coat had appeared, piercing blue eyes meeting my brown. 

"Cas!" I yelled. 

At the exclamation, the arguing in the living room stopped. All three Hunters stared at the fashionably late angel, none of them all too happy to see him. Without a word, Castiel walked up to Dean and touched his forehead. A bright light pulsed through Dean, and every inch of his body was healed. I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping myself from passing out. Yes, I had been studying up on the lore, but I was still new to everything. Seeing a very injured man suddenly without a scratch made all sorts of alarms go off in my head. Being free from deep lacerations or a concussion, Dean stood up and almost decked Cas, but Sam stopped him. 

"Cas, what the hell?!" Dean yelled. "Where were you?!" 

"I prayed to you, Cas. Why didn't you answer?" Sam added. 

Castiel glanced between Dean and Sam, and I saw anger building behind those blue eyes. "Because I've been busy! I have more on my hands than babysitting two humans that can't stay alive for more than a few seconds! You lived. A simple thank you for taking away your wounds would suffice." Castiel glared at Dean and the tension in the air grew thicker and thicker till you could cut it with a knife. "Now, about what happened. What were you thinking, Dean?" 

"Well maybe I wasn't!" He paused and no one else stepped in to take over the conversation. "I don't know...It seemed like a good thing at the time."

Sam's face echoed the shock everyone felt. "You think it's a good idea to get yourself killed? Is that really a good price to pay?"

"We could have done something else, Dean," Bobby said, trying to stay calm for the sake of moving on from this. "We still can, but you can't just rush into things. Like you always do. We can fix this. Just give us time." 

I stayed in the corner of the living room, crossing my arms, and keeping my mouth shut. This technically didn't concern me, and I was eavesdropping by this point. 

"Bobby's right, Dean," Castiel remarked. "In fact, I have a contact that may know something." Without warning, Cas vanished from view. 

Dean's expression morphed from annoyed to utter exasperation in a second. "Damn angels..." he mumbled. 

In another second, Castiel reappeared in the center of the room, and he nodded. "I may have a lead. But I need time. I'll let you know when I can." And he was gone again. 

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw, unspoken tension coursing through him. 

"Well while he's off in angel land," Dean said, "I think I'll go take a shower. Get...whatever this is off me." He immediately marched upstairs and I heard the flow of water within minutes. 

I sighed and walked to the coffee maker, refilling my mug and popping my neck. I was beginning to think this was more than I signed up for when I decided to find my dad. Now I had to ask...was it really worth it to stay? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, feel free to throw some love or leave a comment. Let me know I'm doing something right!  
> Have an amazing day! :)


	7. Dancing Queen

Five Years Later

* * *

For a moment, everything felt suspended, as if time hadn't caught up. My breath hitched in my throat, and my lungs tried to tell me to breathe - inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. As I realized what was happening around me, internal panic alarms and red alerts were firing, and I froze. The rain was pounding, driving bullets of water into my bare arms, and my black hair was plastered to my neck. This had to be a some kind of messed up dream, an utter nightmare that held me prisoner in my own mind. 

"You get out of him, damn it!" I screamed. "Get out of him right now!" 

The demon sneered, eyes clipping to black momentarily. "Or you'll what? I see no Winchesters, no demon blade, no angel blade. So just what are you going to do about it?" 

I reached back into my memory, trying to find the Latin words Sam had taught me. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus...spiritus..._ " I stumbled over the words, but the demon in front of me began twitching, uncomfortable. 

"Shut up..." it mumbled. "Stop!" 

It threw me backwards, pain reverberating through the back of my head. Groaning, I continued the exorcism, but the hellish creature changed tactics, cutting off my air supply. And I began seeing spots, everything becoming blurry. This was how I died. 

_Dad..._ I thought. _Stop. Please, stop._

* * *

Bobby's House

Present Day

* * *

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned around. Bobby. 

"You okay?" he asked. 

"I don't think I'm qualified to be asked that question. If anyone, it's Dean. Or Sam. Even you, but I'm just a spectator." 

"Amy, no amount of reading can prepare you for when a monster walks through the door. Or a Hunter critically injured from who knows what. It's just part of the job description, and it's understandable if you're a little...uneasy about all this." 

I sighed and stared at the floor. Dean had just woken up, been healed by an angel, and the angel needed to follow up on a lead in order to solve whatever the Winchesters had gotten themselves into this time - specifically what _Dean_ had gotten himself into. Admittedly, seeing the older brother covered in his own blood was formidable, and it had taken every ounce of inner strength to not add another mess to the predicament. I absently chewed on the inside of my cheek. 

"Honestly, uneasy is an understatement, Bobby. I'm completely floored, shocked, flabbergasted - whatever word you can come with for..." I gestured widely, spreading my arms out and raising them over my head. "For whatever this is. It's only, what, 7:30 A.M., and I already need a stiff drink. You - _this -_ was not what I expected to find when I decided to go looking for you." I paused. "I thought Robert Singer would be some nice middle-aged mechanic. Not that you aren't, Bobby, but...monster Hunter? With a police record to boot? Don't get me wrong, the last month, learning just snippets of your world as been compelling, but I don't know if I'm cut out for it. Any of it."

"Well I wouldn't say that, Amy." Bobby gave a half-smile as he spoke.

I raised my eyebrows, shocked at the statement. "What do you mean?"

"The way you handled patching Dean up yesterday was impressive for a first-timer. You didn't panic, and were more than willing to take over when you were needed. It was like you'd been doing that a long time. Not to mention staying up with the kid to let Sam sleep, talking to him just to let him vent when the only things you know about them is what I told you. It's almost like it's in your blood." He grinned. "You may be more 'cut out for it' than you think. But, like I said, I get it if you're overwhelmed. We ain't exactly dealing with anything easy at the moment either. It's like the apocalypse all over again."

"I'm sorry, the what?"

He shook his head. "I'll tell you that story later. But...just think about it, alright?"

"Yeah. Sure." 

As Bobby went outside to look for something he thought was in his van, I went up to my room and flopped back on the bed, staring at the patchy ceiling. Gibson was outside with Sam, playing fetch or chasing after Sam's ankles. Either way I could hear the taller brother laughing through the open window at the dog's antics. Dean was still in the shower and humming Metallica of all things. Bobby slammed his van door closed, an aggravated, "Balls!" echoing through the air. I smiled at that. His vocabulary was amusing, to say the least. This world had expanded 10 times over in the duration of finding Bobby and reading about the things he, and all other Hunters, chased down and killed to keep the rest of human-kind safe. Even my own mother had joined the fray for a short time. Maybe Bobby was right. Maybe I had more of an extinct for this than I thought. I closed my eyes, quickly drifting to sleep, exhaustion taking over my mind as watching over Dean prevented me from sleeping the night before. 

When I woke up, most of the day was gone. Judging by the sun, it was 4:00 in the afternoon, and I heard hushed tones coming from downstairs. Someone must have spread a blanket over me since it hadn't been there before. I rubbed at my eyes and threw the blanket back, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Gibson raised his head at my movement. He had taken guard at the foot of the bed like he always did. I patted the space beside me and he jumped up, giving my cheek a single lick and receiving a scratch behind his ears. After sufficient affection, he jumped back down and sat by the bedroom door, always an indicator he was ready to go downstairs. So, listening to the quirky mutt, I opened the door and followed him to the kitchen where Sam, Dean, and Bobby all stood around, a beer in each of their hands. 

"Well, look who's up!" Dean exclaimed, raising his beer my direction. "Sleeping beauty herself!" 

"Very funny, Dean." Although I wasn't laughing. I reached into the fridge to grab a beer, used to the abnormal things Bobby kept in there. Things like lamb's blood or blood of...anything. "I didn't mean to sleep all day." 

"No worries," Sam replied. "It's the least we could do to repay you for staying up all night. Thanks again, by the way." 

I gave a halfhearted grin. "Of course." I took a sip of the alcohol. "Thank you to whoever left the blanket." 

"You looked cold," Dean said. 

I stared in mild surprise. Did he look in my room after he got out of the shower? The bathroom was just down the hall from my room, so it wouldn't be too abnormal, I guess. However, the act still seemed odd. Maybe I was just having a small overreaction to a kind gesture. 

"Well," Bobby said, breaking the awkward silence, "who's hungry? I got burgers I could grill up if we want." 

At the mention of food, my stomach growled, and I realized I hadn't eaten at all that day. "Dinner sounds like an amazing idea," I answered. 

"Great! Dean, fire up the grill, will ya?" 

"On it." He disappeared out the back door. 

"Amy, Sam, wanna help in here?" Bobby asked. 

"Sure." I set my beer down and washed my hands, although I didn't know how many times Bobby had cooked something without doing the same action. Sam shrugged off his flannel and we went to making burger patties while Bobby seasoned the meat, taking it out to Dean to grill up. Sam and I put together a few sides and we ate outside that night. The summer air was refreshing, and I remembered Mom and I on a beach in California, eating from a picnic basket while we told each other incredible fantasies and completely made up stories. That night around a small fire, stories were told, and although they would have sounded fictional to anyone else, I knew they were real. Bobby, Sam, and Dean recounted tales of hunts gone wrong, hunts that were just ridiculously funny, and hunts that ended triumphantly. Dean told the story of hunting the fairies, and I snorted beer out my nose when he recounted fighting a tiny fairy with nipples, microwaving it to death. 

"Woah, you were _soulless_?" I questioned when that detail was underhandedly slipped in. 

Sam smiled and nodded his head. "Yeah. For over a year, actually."

"What was that like?"

His expression shifted to more of a grim frown. "Not good, from what I hear. Having my soul back is beneficial, although...there are some things I could have gone without when I got it back." 

"Huh..." I mused. "Learn something new everyday." I sipped at the beer again, this probably being my fourth. "So. Naked fairies? How'd you beat 'em?" 

Dean smiled as he told the rest of the story then handed it over to Sam for the end of it. I smiled and laughed the entire night when Bobby cut me off from drinking, having had too many drinks. He forced a bottle of water into my hand, insisting I dilute the blood/alcohol ratio. 

Bobby looked at his watch. "It's a lot later than I thought it was," he remarked as he stood up from the lawn chair. "It's time to hit the sack. Night all."

"Goodnight, Bobby," Dean said, and Sam simply offered a nod. 

"I think I'm gonna head in too. Night guys." 

Then it was just the two of us. Someone had given me a jacket, although I couldn't remember who, and I tugged it around my shoulders, blocking out the wind. As the fire crackled in front of me, I stared up at the sky, watching as stars flickered, burning billions of miles away. Dean moved to sit in the beat up chair beside me, taking a sip of his drink. 

"So," he began, "are you gonna stay or have you decided yet?"

I brought my gaze down from the heavens above to look Dean in the eye. "I don't know yet. In case you've forgotten, I was asleep all day, so I didn't have much time to think." My tongue felt a little heavy as I spoke, so some words probably came across slurred. Judging from the smirk that rose on Dean's lips, they most likely had. "But, I don't know, Bobby's technically the only family I have left. And tonight..." I paused and drank from the water bottle I still held. "Tonight felt like old times to me. Sometimes Mom and I would go out in the dead of night and have a bonfire in the middle of nowhere. We'd laugh and lay in the grass while she came up with the most outlandish tales. Although, being Mom, some of those stories were most likely true." 

"Did she ever tell you stories of Bobby?"

I nodded. "A few times. She'd reminisce about this mechanic that swept her off her feet, that he was the best guy she had ever known. And that I sometimes reminded her of him. I guess some mannerisms I have. Mom never talked about him too long. She'd always get this...far off, sad look in her eyes and she'd change the subject. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if she just got up the courage to find him and tell him about me."

"You would have been raised in the life," Dean added without hesitation. "Believe me, you'd be hunting things by yourself by now if your mom had brought you here, or if she'd never run off on him. There's a possibility you'd be dead by now, Amy. Your mom knew what he does for a living. She probably didn't want you growing up that way. Sam and I did. Look at us. Some new crazy thing every day, and most of the time we're screwed right up the ass by some demon or even angels these days. I'm tellin' you, from what it sounds like, you had a pretty great childhood." He sipped from his beer and continued to keep eye contact. 

"Dean, what was it like for you? Growing up, I mean." 

He breathed a single laugh and shook his head. "It wasn't ideal, that's for damn sure. New town every week. Dad tried keeping me and Sam in school, but I'd skip most of the time. Sammy's smart. Did well in classes, all that. Hell, he was in college until he was practically forced back into hunting. I wish he could have had his normal life, but at the same time, I'm glad he's with me. Don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to him. Family's important in this business, even if it ain't blood. Bobby's like a second father to us, and he's always there when we need him." 

"What happened to your dad?"

He was silent for a moment, turning the beer bottle in his fingers. "He died. Demon killed him." 

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." 

"Still. Some things don't get better with time." 

There was a certain look in Dean's eye, although he tried to mask it. It was sadness, but more than that. Past the mask, past the surface-level dis-contentedness, there lived something much worse, something that eats away at anyone. Hopelessness. As if he were fighting a continual losing battle. Well, I knew something that might cheer him up. 

I set down my water bottle, stood, and held out my hand. "Come on," I said with no further explanation. 

He lifted his brows in confusion. "What? Where?"

I grinned and continued to offer my hand. "Just, come on." 

Dean finished the few drops of beer that were left and took my hand, following me into the house. We climbed the stairs and walked into my room, and I shut the door once we were in. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my music till 'Mom's Playlist' appeared. Tapping on it, I turned the volume up. 

"Amy, what are we doing?" Dean asked as an 80's pop band rang from the phone speaker. 

"Mom always said 'There's no sense in crying. It won't change a thing. Now, chin up, and if that doesn't work, then dance around in your underwear'."

"So..." he stared at me, still heavily uncertain. "You want me to...dance around in my underwear?" 

I laughed, smiling ear to ear. "Yes!" 

"Okay, this is the alcohol talking, Amy."

"Oh fine. Then at least dance with me, Dean. Come on!" 

Dean hung his head and laughed. When he lifted his eyes, I saw a small glint of ambition return, and he relented, giving his best dance moves, corny as they were. It didn't matter. The purpose of dancing around in your underwear is to become carefree again, and that's what Mom embodied. As long as the weight of the world was lifted, even for a moment, light could enter even the most hopeless individual. As Dean and I danced around, I could almost feel Mom dancing with us, and I giggled until I couldn't dance anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)   
> Currently working on the next chapter.   
> I don't know how many more there will be, so just be patient.   
> Have a fantastic day!


	8. A Haunting at Bernie's

"Aw, well isn't this just precious." 

A rough voice interrupted a peaceful sleep, and I slowly opened my eyes to see Bobby lingering in the doorway, a smirk mixed with a glare across his aging face. Sam hovered behind him, stifling a laugh and smiling in amusement. Confused, I attempted to sit up but quickly realized I couldn't. The memory of the previous night hit me. Dean was lying behind me, arm tightly wrapped around my waist, holding me prisoner in my own bed. So I elbowed him. 

He grunted in pain, rolling off the other side of the bed, groaning as he hit the hardwood floor. "Wha..." he mumbled, still half-asleep. "Where..." He sat up and looked at his surroundings, eyes landing on the bed first, raising to look at me then at Bobby in the doorway. "Bobby," Dean began, "we just...we uhm..."

"Oh, shut up. I heard the two of you partying it up in here last night. I just didn't think you'd spend the night. With my daughter." 

I suppressed a smile at the protective tone in his voice. Clearing my throat, I pulled the attention from Dean. "Well, it was all innocent enough, Bobby. Trust me. I think we both sort of passed out at the same time." 

"What she said," Dean added. 

At that moment, Gibson ran in and found the human still sprawled on the floor. Gibson licked Dean's face, causing the older Winchester to raise his arms in defense from the energetic dog. 

"Gibs!" I chastised. "Gibson, get away. Go on!" 

The mutt jumped on my bed at the sound of my voice, leaving Dean alone, resorting to staring at him instead. 

"Well, I think I'll go take a shower," I said, standing from my bed and gathering some clean clothes and toiletries. "Excuse me, boys." Bobby and Sam stood to the side, allowing me entrance to the hallway. As I began closing the bathroom door, I heard Bobby ripping Dean a new one, about how I was off limits. Shaking my head, I laughed to myself. Who knew that one month's time would turn Bobby into an over-protective father? 

The steam from the warm water of the shower cleared my sinuses, and I took a series of deep breaths. Dancing with Dean last night had been fun, and watching his eyes light up with something previously unseen had been intriguing. I wondered at the overwhelming sadness he held, the guilt so evident behind that mask of holding it all together. He may have been holding it together, but the thread was slowly unraveling, revealing the desperate and hurting man underneath. If one night of pure spontaneity could ignite the smallest match, I wondered what altogether letting go would do for Dean. But was that even possible for the Hunter? He and Sam seemed to be in the brunt of it, and their work was completely of dire importance. For whatever reason, I felt utter sympathy for the brothers and for Bobby. If I had the power, I would take every single problem away from them, if even for one day, so the the world no longer rested on their shoulders. It was a heavy burden, and I could tell they carried it wherever they went. The load had to be exhausting. 

The call of morning coffee was stronger than my desire to remain standing under the warm water, so I toweled off and got dressed, walking down the creaky wooden staircase to the kitchen, taking what had become my usual coffee cup and filling it with life-giving liquid. At the first sip, I closed my eyes in complete ecstasy, sighing as it fell down my esophagus and to my stomach, beginning its work through my circulatory system. Was I addicted to the stuff? Probably. But, at least it wasn't cocaine or meth or some other drug. 

I wandered the house searching for the brothers and Bobby as they weren't in the kitchen. Hearing voices come from outside, I ventured onto the porch to a hilarious scene. Sam was running from Gibson, the dog chasing his ankles, barking and pouncing at the large man. Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, laughing at the state of his brother until Sam picked something up and threw it at Dean. Dean's face changed from amusement to pure defense. 

"Oh, that's it. You better run for it, Sammy. That dog's not what you have to worry about now." 

I heard Sam mumble an, "Oh shit," before he took off, Dean close behind him as they ran through the salvage yard. 

Bobby was rummaging around in his van, tossing things out, blatantly searching for something. He eventually slammed the van doors shut, letting out a frustrated, "Balls!" He sighed, crossing his arms. "Where the hell did I put it?" Bobby turned from the van and walked to the garage, scratching his head. 

From across the sea of cars, I heard Sam shout, "Alright, I give, I give! Let me up, you dick!"

Dean laughed, saying, "Serves you right." 

"Jerk!"

"Bitch."

I took another sip of coffee, giggling to myself. Gibson had found me and laid at my feet, panting and watching over the salvage yard as the boys wandered back to the house and Bobby searched his garage, still looking for who-knows-what. This life was a complete 180 from what life with Mom had been like, but I began to find myself enjoying it. Granted, I had never been hunting, but just knowing I had found my dad and two brothers that still acted like children was enough to make me smile. 

* * *

"Amy, come here a minute. Need to talk to you!" Bobby called from the living room.

I stood from where I still sat on the porch and walked inside, finding Bobby and the Winchesters. Bobby leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed, a serious tone in his eyes. I was instantly confused. 

"Uh. What's up?" I asked cautiously. "Something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing's wrong. It's just...Well, the boys and I were talking and there seems to be a problem ghost in a town not far from here. Dean and Sam are planning to go take care of it while waiting on Cas to get back from wherever _he_ is. Well..." Bobby acted rather uncomfortable with whatever he had to say next. 

"Well...what?" I pried. 

Dean stepped forward. "Bobby, in his eloquent way of speaking, was going to ask if you'd like to join me and Sam. You know, first hunt. Start you out easy." 

I just stared, shocked at the offer. Sure, I knew about ghosts and vengeful spirits from books Bobby had let me read. I knew they couldn't stand iron or salt and I knew how to get rid of them. But...actually going on a hunt? The thought scared me out of my mind. 

Seeing my eyes widen at the prospect, Sam interjected. "You don't have to, Amy. It was just a thought." 

"Besides...it might help you decide." Bobby stared at me, and I knew what he was talking about. 

The two of us had discussed me staying with him long-term since I had nowhere to go. Because of his lifestyle, I'd been unsure, not knowing if I could deal with the idea of him going on cases, not knowing if he was coming back or not. Yes, I had only known him for a month, but I had already formed a small attachment, and it was growing with each passing day. Bobby was my only blood relative that I knew of, and the thought of losing him to something began to terrify me. He hadn't gone on any cases for a while, as he was quick to inform me, but I was still nervous for him. 

"Right. That," I said. "Uhm..." I crossed my arms and stared at the floor. "I have to admit, even though it's 'just a ghost,' it's daunting. I mean, I've never hunted before. I didn't know about any of this till last month, thanks to you Dean for smoothly telling me about it." He smirked a little at the memory. "But...Actually go with you? I don't know. And there's this looming thing, whatever that is you all are currently dealing with. I wouldn't want to get in the way of that."

"You wouldn't be in the way," Bobby said. He had tried to convince me to stay multiple times. Deep inside, I think the man was quite lonely with just his research and his telephones to keep him company most of the time. 

I mulled it over, weighing the pros and cons, and wondered who in their right mind would jump into this sort of thing. Then I remembered. That's exactly what my mom did when Bobby had showed up at the house she was illegally staying in. 

_Mom could do this,_ I thought. _Isn't it your turn?_

I slowly nodded. "Alright. Let's do it." 

Bobby actually smiled at my words. 

Dean stepped away and walked in the direction of the front door. "Good. We leave in an hour." 

I raised an eyebrow, curious at the sudden change in his demeanor. He had been so relaxed the night before and was in good spirits just hours earlier. What had changed? Shaking the questions from my mind, I rushed upstairs to pack a bag. 

_What do I even bring with me?_ I thought. 

"Sam!" I called from my room. 

He soon appeared at the base of the stairs. "What is it, Amy?"

"I have a question!" 

He bounded up the stairs and entered my room. "What's up?"

"Uhm...What should I bring with me? I don't even know where to start."

"Ha! Right."

Sam walked me through what's usually good to have on hand for any case and what I might need that I wouldn't usually think of. As he explained, I packed into my backpack the essentials. He eventually left to pack his own things and meet me outside along with Dean. Looking around my room, I sighed. 

"Well, Ames..." I said to myself. "Go now or you never will." 

So I ran down the stairs to join the brothers at the car. Gibson was close behind me, thinking he was going somewhere. I threw my backpack into the backseat of the Impala and knelt down to scratch the mutt's head. "No, boy. You have to stay here. Watch Bobby for me, yeah? Make sure he doesn't eat any ice cream."

"I buy it, I can eat it!" Bobby defended, suddenly appearing in front of me. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of him for you. Here." He took something from his back pocket and handed it to me. "This will probably come in handy." 

I held what seemed to be a leather wallet, but when I opened it, I found it contained an 'F.B.I.' badge and I.D. Tucked in behind the I.D. were business cards with both my alias and his as my 'supervisor'. Grinning, I tucked the I.D. into my pocket. "Thanks, Bobby." 

"You boys take care of her, you hear?" 

Dean nodded. "Don't worry, Bobby. We got her." 

The older man stared down at me. "Be safe, Amy." 

"It's like your my father or something," I teased, but I knew he was genuinely worried for me. "Don't worry. We'll be back before you know it!" 

"We best be going," Dean said from behind the wheel. 

"Right." Unexpectedly, Bobby pulled me in for an awkward hug, but it was well-intended. I returned it, knowing this wasn't something he did often, and smiled. 

"See you soon, old man," I mumbled into his worn flannel shirt. 

As he let me go, I crawled into the Impala and watched as Bobby called Gibson to follow him. The dog stared at the car for a few moments before following Bobby back to the house. The Impala roared onto the highway, and before I could change my mind, we were speeding to a town a few counties over. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm the nerves that began firing with each passing mile. Dean searched through a box of old cassette tapes and shoved one into the player. Creedance Clearwater Revival bean blasting through the speakers. Dean thew his head back, singing along with the old band. I grinned as I watched him. Maybe he let loose more often than I thought. 

"So, Amy," Dean said, breaking my train of thought. "You've never been formally introduced to the car. Amy this is Baby. Baby, this is Amy. There are a few rules when it comes to Baby. Number one: driver picks the music, passenger shuts his pie hole. Number two: no one drives Baby unless I say so. Number three: no disrespecting the car. Number four: never threaten to wreck the car. Number five: Baby goes where I go, no ifs, ands, or buts. But not necessarily in that order. Got it?"

"Crystal clear, Mr. Winchester, Sir." 

Sam grinned at my response. "So, Amy. You nervous?"

I took a deep breath. "Hell yeah, I'm nervous. Who wouldn't be?"

"Ah, you'll be fine." Dean looked at me in the rear-view mirror. "Bobby's your dad, and apparently your mom was a kick-ass woman who went hunting with Bobby for kicks. You're probably a natural at this."

"One can only hope," I mumbled as I looked out the window. 

Without warning, a powerful presence appeared beside me, and I jumped, hitting my head against the window next to me. 

"Hello, Dean." 

"Sonofabitch!" Dean exclaimed, the car swerving a little. "Cas! What the hell, man! What do you want?!" 

"I'm sorry to have frightened you." He glanced over at me. "Oh. Hello, Amy." Castiel returned his attention to the older Winchester. "I have some news. That lead I spoke of earlier? It is valid. When you are ready, just call me and we can talk about it. I can see you are in the middle of something."

"What is the lead, Cas?" Dean asked. 

"It involves hunting down Crowley, which won't be easy, but it's the only way. And you may not like the rest of it." 

"Spit it out, Cas." Irritation rose in Dean's voice. 

"You'll have to venture into Hell to find who you're looking for then steal back what they took without getting yourself killed in the process." 

"Woah, go into Hell? Alive? Isn't that...suicide?" Sam interjected. 

"Yes," Cas replied, very matter-of-fact and unwavering. 

"Peachy. Just...peachy," Dean mumbled, hot anger in his words. "Can I kill the bitch?"

"If it comes down to it, you'll have to in order to survive getting back to Earth."

"Good. At least it might make the trip worth it. Anything else?"

"Not at this moment. We'll talk soon."

With that and the sound of wings, Castiel disappeared from the car, leaving the three of us again. I sat there, wide-eyed. Venture into Hell? What the actual...hell? 

"Anyway..." I mumbled. 

The remainder of the ride was more tense than before with this new information. I could see Dean mulling it over, weighing the pros and cons. He had just come back from a suicide mission and almost died from it. Surely going into Hell itself was just as, if not more, dangerous than whatever it was he did earlier. However, I was still in the dark about what Dean had done that had nearly cost him his life. And I wasn't about to ask, afraid for what it actually entailed. 

We rolled into a cheap-looking motel late in the afternoon. 

"Do you want your own room, Amy?" Dean asked. How considerate. 

"Yeah. I'll check-in separately." 

He nodded and walked up to the front desk. He was still very tense, and Sam hadn't said anything most of the drive either. He watched his brother, concern lacing his features. 

"You okay, Sam?" I asked. 

"Yeah. All things considered. But...What Cas said earlier. It's worrying."

"I can see why. That doesn't sound like a vacation."

"No kidding."

"Amy, you're up," Dean said, interrupting my conversation with Sam. I approached the check-in counter and ended up getting a room adjacent to the brothers. As we found the rooms, we pooled money for dinner and Dean went on a food run as Sam and I began diving into the beginnings of research. 

"First things first," Sam began. "Local police records of what's been happening recently. So, it looks like three days ago there was a mysterious death. No break-in, no sign of struggle. The most unusual thing found was the slit wrists and throat, but no sign of a knife. So, what's your first guess?" He paused, staring at me from the table he sat at, waiting for my response. 

"Vengeful spirit? Unfinished business?" 

Sam nodded approvingly. "Good." He clicked on a link and turned his laptop to let me see. "So, it looks like the victim's husband, Bernard, mysteriously died a few years back. It was never solved, and the wife, our new victim, was never questioned for foul play. Died in the same way - two slit wrists and a slit throat. The couple's son, who is apparently old enough to be out on his own, still lives at the house. Something tells me if we don't act fast, he will end up in the same state as his parents - on a cold slab." 

"Gross...Could the son have killed his parents?" I mused.

Sam nodded. "It's possible. That's why we're going to the crime scene tomorrow, ask him some questions, and then probably visit the morgue to see the body. Hence why Bobby gifted you with a fake I.D." 

Dean returned with the evening's meal - burgers and beer. I saw Sam internally sigh when Dean walked through the door. What was wrong with burgers and beer? 

"Thanks," I said, taking my hamburger from Dean. 

We discussed the case as we ate, putting together the next day's game plan. Agreeing to get going around 8 in the morning, I decided to head to bed. It was going to be a long day if we ended up interrogating, morgue searching, and salt and burning in the same day. Something told me we would. 

* * *

We stood outside the victim's house, and I shifted uncomfortably in the polyester pant-suit. As a young man opened the front door, the three of us planted fake smiles and flashed badges. 

"Hello, Mr. Drakes?" Dean began. 

"Yes. Who are you?"

"F.B.I. I'm agent Copeland, and these are my associates, agents Brooks and Ross. We have a few questions about your mother's death." 

"I already told the police everything." The young man was extremely reluctant to let more cops into the house.

Sam nodded. "We understand, but we just have a few follow-up questions for you. It won't take long." He grinned as Dean kept his business-like expression. 

The young man opened the door wider, stepping back, and allowing the three of us inside. As Sam and the victim's son began going through events, Dean and I scoped the house, searching for anything unusual. 

"Has there been anything strange: strange noises, shadows, cold spots?" 

"Come to think of it, yeah. There was. The night Mom..." The son choked up, swallowing back the beginnings of tears. "Sorry."

"No, I understand. It's tough to talk about."

Dean walked up to the son and stared him down. "You didn't kill your mom, did you?"

"What?! Why would I do something like that?! How dare you accuse me of killing my own mom!" 

Sam jumped up. "We're sorry. Agent, maybe you should step outside. Huh?" Dean did so calmly. "If you think of anything else, feel free to give me a call. Here's my card. Thank you."

Sam and I left the house and began a brisk pace back to the Impala.

"Well, he didn't kill his mom," Dean said. 

"Yeah. Looks like vengeful spirit. You ready, Amy?"

"What's next?"

"Well, we were going to go down to the morgue, but I don't think there's a point." Dean paused, looking at the house again. "I'm thinking one of us stakes out here to keep the kid safe, and the other two go to dig up the grave of Mr. Bernard Drakes."

Sam agreed, and we drove away, going to kill time before the real work began. 

Sam lost to rock, paper, scissors (which was apparently a shock to them both), so Dean and I went to Bernard's grave for the salt and burn. 

"Doesn't someone need to be with him?" I asked as I dug my shovel into the soft earth below. 

"Probably. But Sam's a big boy. He can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I gotta have faith that Sam will take care of both him and the kid." 

We continued to dig, which was harder work than I thought. When we hit the casket, Dean pried it open and leaped out of the six-foot hole we just dug, offering a hand to pull me out. I picked up the bag of salt, dumping it onto the corpse as Dean emptied lighter fluid, dropping a box of matches into the grave site. 

"Now, we wait," he said. 

Soon, Dean's phone rang. "Sammy?" he answered. "Good. Yeah, we'll wait for you here." He hung up and shoved his phone into his back pocket. "On his way. Worked. The kid is shaken up, but he's fine." 

"Good. Is it usually this simple?"

Dean chuckled. "Most of the time, but there are cases where the dead person had something of incredible value or there's a lock of hair somewhere. Then we have to find it and burn it as well. Which can be frustrating. Requires a lot more digging around in records and asking the locals more questions." 

"Oh. Something tells me this was a really easy case."

"Oh, definitely. Very straightforward." 

Soon, Sammy pulled up and stood with us as we watched the flames go down. We filled the grave back in, which was almost more work than digging it up, and rolled out as the sun began peaking over the horizon. 

"Good work, guys," Dean praised. "Let's get some sleep."

"That sounds like a great idea," I added from the back seat. 

We grabbed a quick breakfast at a local diner then headed back to the hotel for showers and naps before driving back to Bobby's. The ride back was more peaceful without Cas interrupting Dean's karaoke. He and Sam laughed over stupid jokes or funny suggestions, and I smiled. The brothers were beginning to feel like family. Although, admittedly, one Winchester caught my attention more than the other. And his green eyes danced with satisfaction at a job well done as the highway continued to roll on. 


	9. A Whole New Normal

"Cas said what?!" Bobby's eyes widened, pure shock written all over his weathered face. "Now _he's_ lost it." 

"It may be our only chance, Bobby," Dean answered, trying to stay calm for the sake of the conversation. "If we go to her, then maybe we can catch her off guard. And possibly gank the bitch." 

"Yeah, and come near get yourselves killed in the process! For mercy's sake, Dean, you just almost died with whatever you went and dove into it. Going to Hell sounds like an even worse idea!" 

"Not if Crowley calls a ceasefire," Sammy added.

"Do you really expect Crowley to call off his minions and just let you two traipse all over Hell to find what you're looking for? How do you even know it's there?"

Dean shrugged. "According to Cas, she's stashed it in Hell."

"And Cas is always right?" Bobby seemed desperate to get the brothers to change their minds, to call off their next suicide mission.

"He hasn't been wrong before," the younger brother said. "Look, Bobby, we haven't stumbled across anything else. This looks like our best option." 

Bobby sighed in frustration. "Well I don't like it, but it looks like you two have made up your minds." He shoved past Sam and Dean, anger flashing through his hazel eyes. "I'll be downstairs..." 

"Well that could have gone better..." Sam mumbled. 

"No kidding." 

Dean turned and walked out the door to blow off a little steam. 

I tried to offer a supportive grin. "It could have gone a lot worse, too." 

A half-smile spread over Sam's tired face. "Yeah. I suppose it could have." 

Leaving the boys to delve over things on their own, I began a fresh pot of coffee, knowing at least one man would want a cup before long. He was becoming predictable, and I was beginning to realize how alike we truly were although neither of us had met until a month ago. Genetics obviously had a hand to play, and Mom had been right - I did act like Bobby. We both had an affinity for good whiskey, appreciated home cooking, and lived off coffee and poor diet choices. The tone we used when frustrated mirrored each other. The longer I lived at the Singer house, the more I cared for the older man. And it was becoming obvious how he had begun to see me as his daughter and not just some random stranger that appeared at his doorstep. 

"Hey, Amy." I turned to see the older brother had reentered the house. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached. "You wouldn't be willing to talk to your dad for us, would you?"

I just stared at him, hoping my eyes would relay the message. "Dean..." I shook my head. "That's _your_ problem. Yes the two of you are very important to Bobby. I know he had a hand in raising you, and I get you don't want him to be angry with you, but this has nothing to do with me. Yes, Bobby is my dad. But I'm not about to start doing you any favors. I have no more pull with him than you do, so no, Dean. I won't talk to him for you. I sympathize. I'm sorry you're dealing with demon shit, but from what it sounds like, you got yourselves into this mess. And now you have to get yourselves out. Leave me out of it. I'll help you with research, if I even can. I'll help clean your weapons, and I'll even help chase down a few ghosts. But I am not going to try and convince my father to be any less annoyed or frustrated or downright _worried_ about two men he considers sons."

I switched on the coffee pot.

"You know, Dean. He was worried sick about you when you went on that suicide mission. And now I understand why. You're so desperate to fix whatever this is that you're willing to end your own life just to solve the problem. I understand why he paced by the phone. You didn't see what I saw that month you were AWOL. He waited for you to call him, just to check in. But you never did, and the next time he saw you, you were being dragged in by your brother because you were practically dead. So please, cut the man some slack. He almost lost his son." 

I left him standing in the kitchen, giving him no chance to retaliate or explain himself. From what I had seen, Dean was incredibly smart. He just acted out of impulse more than anything else. Sam was the methodical one, often bringing reason into any predicament the brothers were facing. He did the mass of research while Dean went on food runs or talked to the locals. They played different roles. And both were family to Bobby. I had heard him say, "Family don't end with blood." The boys were living proof of that. 

"Amy!" Dean called after me as I climbed the stairs to my room. "Amy, wait!" 

Sighing, I stopped just shy of my room and turned, crossing my arms as Dean made his way up the stairs. "Yes, Winchester?" 

"Look, I wasn't asking you to change Bobby's mind. I was asking if you could calm him down."

"You know Bobby. He needs a minute. He'll come around. Doesn't he always?" 

He nodded, mainly to himself. "Yeah, I suppose he does. You seem to know him better than I thought."

"He's my father, Dean. We do share the same genes. Some things don't require you to know an extensive history of someone's life. I've spent a month with him, and yeah that's not a long time all things considered, but I see a lot of myself in him. It makes it easier to pick up on that stuff." 

"I'll admit, I was skeptical when Bobby first said you're his daughter. Because blood don't always make you family, but...you really do seem to care about him. About us."

"There hasn't been a reason not to, Dean." 

I heard Bobby ascend the basement stairs and walk into the kitchen. The tone of a ceramic mug clinking against glasses echoed through the house followed by the familiar sound of a carafe leaving a coffee maker. 

"Why don't you go talk to him?" I offered. 

"Yeah." He turned, head ducked, and walked downstairs to talk to the older man. 

Softer words were spoken between the brothers and their adopted father, and I could tell Bobby had had the opportunity to take a breath and relax. The tension in the house slowly began to come down, and I walked into my room, quietly shutting the door. As I sat in the corner chair, I mulled over the words Dean had said: Blood don't always make you family. I wondered what experience made him believe that. The boys didn't grow up a normal life, from what I'd been told. Always on the road with John, never staying in the same place long. When Sam went to college. Then Sam came back, mostly against what he wanted. I could empathize with the nomadic lifestyle, as that's how I had been raised as well, but I couldn't imagine what it was like to grow up knowing monsters are real and you're never truly safe. Dean had tried to escape the life, but he was pulled right back in when he found out Sam was still alive. So, whatever it was that made Dean believe that blood doesn't always make you family, I wasn't sure I wanted to know the entire story. He had found his own family in fellow Hunters, and that was more than most in this life could have asked for. 

* * *

When Dean and Sam took the trip to Hell for whatever purpose it served, Bobby was on edge. He didn't sleep much, waiting for a call that everything was okay and dreading the opposite. He drank more than he ate, and I began hiding the bottles of alcohol, forcing him to switch to coffee. 

"Bobby, can I make _anything_ for you? Sandwich, pie...something?" 

He shook his head as he sat behind his desk. "No." He sighed, pushing the chair back and stood. "I'll be in the workshop." 

I waited a few minutes and ignored his words, fixing him a ham sandwich and plating some chips to go along with it. I poured some iced tea into the cleanest glass I could find and went outside to make the old man eat. Bobby was bent over a car he had been working on and he turned when he heard my footsteps on the bare ground. I gave a half-smile and extended the food and tea out to him, begging him to consume something other than whiskey and caffeine. With a defeated breath, he relented, taking the sandwich from me. 

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking a bite and sighing as his stomach thanked him for a change of diet. "I'm just..."

"No, I get it," I said before he could finish the sentence. "I'm worried myself. I've come to appreciate the idjits." 

Bobby smiled at my use of his favorite insult. "What is it with Dean?" 

I swallowed at the question, knowing exactly what he meant but wanting to feign idiocy. "What do you mean?" 

He squinted at me, slightly tilting his head down. "Oh, please. The two of you have been dancing around each other since he came back, barely alive. I may be old, but I'm not blind." 

Worrying my bottom lip, I simply shrugged. "I don't know. I just a feel a strange connection to him, I guess." I shot Bobby a sarcastic grin. "Why do you ask? It's like you're my dad or something." 

He chuckled, taking another bite from his sandwich. 

Bobby and I remained in the garage for a few hours as he explained what he was doing. I tried keeping up, and some of it stuck, but I was really just taking in spending time with the only father figure I'd ever known. I had never had a strong male role model growing up. Simply listening to him talk about how to fix a car was more than I could have asked for. 

Time went quickly, and it was dark when Bobby finally looked up from the engine. About that time, the roar of a different engine came through the gate of the salvage yard, and Bobby immediately neglected the worn car in front of him. We both practically ran to the driveway to see a Chevrolet Impala rolling to a stop in front of the house. Dean was behind the wheel, Sam in the passenger side, and they both stared out the windshield, full of relief that they survived a trip to Hell. 

Dean cut the engine and the brothers exited the car. Bobby quickly hugged Dean, and the older brother returned the sentiment, tightly wrapping his arms around Bobby. As Bobby went to hug Sam, Dean approached me, hugging me just as he'd hugged Bobby, and I squeezed back, thankful they had returned with their lives intact. Dean released me, and I gave Sam an equally strong hug. They both had scratches and bruises on their bodies, but all things considered, they could have been much worse for wear. 

"You boys hungry?" I asked. 

"Starving," Dean answered. 

I walked into the house, all three men following me. Sam began to recount the story of their little trip to Hell. Apparently convincing Crowley to call off his demons was the easiest part of the entire thing, although the King of Hell offered no help otherwise. Finding whatever object they were after had been the real issue, and getting it was no easy task. The place it was stashed had a hoard of demons on guard, and the brothers had to fight their way through, hence the bruised and lacerated faces. When they finally got to what they'd been seeking, "The Bitch," as Dean lovingly referred to her as, showed up. 

"Well, let's just say she is no longer a problem," Dean said as he finished the story. "That problem is behind us, we got back what's rightfully ours, and I think I need a nap." 

Dean placed his empty plate in the sink and promptly went upstairs. 

"I'm glad you boys are okay," Bobby said, patting Sam on the shoulder as the older Hunter went upstairs to his own room. "Maybe I can actually sleep tonight!" he called behind him. 

"Did he not sleep?" Sam asked.

I shook my head. "Yeah. No sleep, hardly ate. All he drank was whiskey till I forced him not to. Then I had to force him to eat. Distracting him was the only way to get his mind off of you two taking a vacation to Hell. He doesn't need babysitting. He just needs company." 

"Well, hopefully that will be the last risk for a while. We got what we need. At least one more mess cleaned up before the next one hits." Sam stood and walked to the sink. "You need any help with the dishes?"

"No. I got it. Go get some sleep, Sammy." 

"I feel like I hear those words from you anytime we're around each other." 

"Well, I call it how I see it. Now go get some sleep. Before I drag you up there myself."

He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm going, I'm going. Goodnight, Amy."

"Night, Sam." 

I mindlessly scrubbed the dishes since there weren't too many. Before that moment, I had never envisioned myself taking care of three grown-ass men, but there I was, making sure they ate, slept, and showered, offering terrible advice as needed. It wasn't ideal. But I felt it had become something I didn't know I needed. At least I had a purpose to fulfill, even if it wasn't ordinary. But who wants to live in a world that's normal anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Next chapter is currently under construction and will be out real soon! <3


	10. For What Its Worth

5 Years Later

* * *

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus...spiritus..._ " I stumbled over the words, and the demon in front of me began twitching, uncomfortable. 

"Shut up..." it mumbled. "Stop!" 

It threw me backwards, pain reverberating through the back of my skull. Groaning, I continued the exorcism, but the hellish creature changed tactics, cutting off my air supply. And I began seeing spots, everything becoming blurry. This was how I died. 

_Dad..._ I thought. _Stop. Please, stop._

My eyes pleaded, trying to reach the consciousness that had been shoved back into the recesses of the mind. This wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to end like this. If I had just stayed with him, perhaps this never would have happened. He wouldn't have been possessed. Silently, I begged for someone to show up, someone that could help save him and myself. Anyone. 

"Dad..." I managed to gasp. "Dad, stop it! This isn't you! Fight it!" 

Still, the demon currently wearing Bobby continued to choke me, and my lungs screamed for much needed oxygen. It wouldn't be long now. I felt my body go limp and the world around me faded away into complete blackness. 

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas..._ " A new voice joined the fray.

The hold on my trachea lessened, allowing a small inhalation of air.

 _..."omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te... cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare... Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis... Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine... quem inferi tremunt... Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos._ "

With a vicious shout, black smoke evacuated the being it possessed, and Bobby crumbled to the ground, driving rain still pounding into everything it touched. 

"Dad!" I screamed, scrambling up and stumbling over to him, needing him to still be alive. Needing my father with me. "Dad, please. Wake up. Please!" 

"Amy, are you alright?!" 

"I'm fine, Dean!" I pressed two fingers to the side of Bobby's neck, checking for a pulse. It was there. It was strong. "Dad!" I yelled once more, hoping this time it would work. "Damn it, Bobby, wake up!" 

However, my father continued to lie on the ground, soaked by the never-ending rain. 

"Sammy, let's get him to the car," Dean ordered, lifting Bobby's shoulders as Sam took his legs, carrying him to the Impala. I opened the back door and, as carefully as possible, they laid Bobby in the back seat. I had barely enough time to crawl in next to Bobby when Dean pealed away and sped down the highway. "Cas, you better meet us there, dammit..." Dean mumbled. 

I stared at Bobby's unconscious body, willing him to wake up at any moment. As far as we knew, he hadn't been stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, or anything else that could throw him into a state such as this. As soon as we found out, we raced back to Sioux Falls in an effort to keep him alive and send that black parasite back to Hell. 

"Anything?" Dean asked as he continued to neglect the laws of the highway. 

"Nothing." 

"Damn it..." he sighed. "This shouldn't be happening! He should be fine!" 

"We're sure nothing happened to him?" Sam questioned further.

"There's no evidence for it!" I retorted. "No stab wounds, no bullet holes, nothing! He's alive, just not awake." 

In what didn't seem fast enough time, we rolled through the gates of the salvage yard. No angel wearing a trench coat waited for us. Only a mutt that impatiently wagged his tail as it chased the Impala down the highway. Gibson curiously sniffed the tires, figuring out where we had been. 

"Let's get him inside."

The boys carried Bobby to the living room where they gently deposited him on the couch. There was truly nothing else we could do. 

"Now what?" Dean knew the answer the second he asked the question. 

"We wait," Sam replied. "There's nothing we _can_ do. Not unless Cas decides to make a house call." 

"Well we can wait till eternity dries up," I said, frustration seething from my pores. "We all know he's been doing his own thing."

"Right." Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw, his muscles rigid, full of pure anxiety. "Are we taking shifts?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean looked between his brother and I. "I'll sit with him first. Sammy second, and Amy, you go last."

"But - " I began to protest.

"Amy, I know he's your dad and you're worried sick. Believe me, we all are. But you have to sleep. You've been taking care of us the past five years, it's time we return the favor. Go get some rest." It wasn't a suggestion. Dean stared at me with a mix of commanding force and pure and utter sympathy.

With a final glance at Bobby, I turned, grabbing a whiskey bottle on the way out. Gibson followed me to my room, and as I shut the door, I heard beers being pulled from the refrigerator. I was glad to know I wasn't drinking alone. With the first mouthful of alcohol, I sighed as it burned its way down my throat. It probably wasn't the most healthy reaction to feeling the effects of whiskey, but the need for drink was strong. 

When the boys and I had found out Bobby was possessed, we had been on a case in Utah. Jody Mills had called Dean, and as quickly as we could, we packed everything up, abandoning the vamp nest we were tracking down. Upon talking to Jody, she informed us of his strange behavior. Then the omens hit, and it was a matter of finding where Bobby was hiding out and exorcising the demon that held him. Only it hadn't been as easy as we initially hoped. He had barricaded himself in an abandoned hunting cabin, placing warding symbols everywhere so nothing could find him. Without a thought of personal safety, I rushed in, nothing on me but a demon blade, praying I didn't have to use it. I still didn't know what the warding was for, but it didn't block humans from entering the area. So, I scouted the place and sent my location to Sam and hoped they arrived in time to help, which they almost didn't. 

That demon had been all too happy to see I had rushed in to save my beloved father. It was almost as if something, or someone, was trying to flush me out in the open. It had worked. But, what fresh hell was going to crash down on us now? 

To put my rolling and hyperactive thoughts to rest, I drank. And drank. And drank. And drank till I finally lied back on my bed and went to sleep. And dreamed of the end of the world. 

Sleep didn't last long. I woke up to sweat-soaked clothes accompanied with a racing heart. I bolted upright, still fighting the demon I had been facing. My hand wrapped around the spare knife I kept in my room. Sighing, I ran my hand over my drenched forehead, and I stood, walking to the bathroom to wash my face and neck. As I turned the faucet on, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles pooled under my eyes and my lids drooped, both most likely side-effects of the alcohol and countless nights of tossing and turning. When I decided to stay with Bobby and hunt with Dean and Sam, I hadn't expected nightmares to follow. Nor had I expected to pick up the habit of running to alcohol when things got hard. I understood now, more than ever, why Bobby, Sam, and Dean relied on each other. Why they held the hard, calloused exterior. The weight of the world truly did rest on their shoulders, and there was no running from it. Ever. 

"You okay?" 

I snapped my head toward the gruff voice, immediate adrenaline kicking in. A pair of green eyes met mine, and I calmed, but only just. 

I scoffed at the question. "No. But...still better than Dad. How is he?"

Dean hung his head slightly. "No change. Still breathing." 

I shook my head. "I just don't get it. Why is it taking this long?"

"I don't know. Really wish I did." 

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'm going to try and get some more sleep." I walked back to my room, but before I could shut the door, a hand stopped it, shoving it back open. "Dean, what are you doing?" My voice had an exasperated edge to it. 

"Helping you sleep. Sam's watching your dad right now, anyway." He entered my room without permission, closed the door, and walked to my bed, lying down. He extended his arm, motioning for me to join him. "Come on." 

Through an eye roll and a sigh, I lied down beside him, and he protectively wrapped his arm around me. The deep thrum of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothed my mind, and I quickly drifted back to sleep, the weight of the current situation momentarily lifting from my shoulders. However, the dreams remained. 

* * *

Low voices woke me. I reached across the bed, but Dean was gone, so I got up and ran downstairs. 

In the middle of the living room stood Sam, Dean, and...

"Dad..." I breathed. "Oh my gosh, Dad!" I ran forward, slamming into him. 

"Hey, kid," he mumbled. "We're both alright." 

"What the hell happened?" I asked as I separated from him. 

"I'm not really sure. One moment I was in the garage working on a car, and the next I wasn't in control. It came out of nowhere, like I had been targeted." 

"What did it want?" Sam asked. "Why specifically you?"

Bobby shrugged. "I..." He eyed me cautiously. "I think it wanted Amy." 

"Me? For what?"

He shook his head. "I honestly don't know. Its goal was to get you. I tried fighting it, but I just couldn't get control." Bobby's eyes hazed over, and I knew he was thinking of the demon choking the life out of me. 

"It's okay, Bobby," Dean interjected. "We got you back. Safe. That's all that matters. In the meantime, we need to do something so that doesn't happen again."

"I am not getting a tattoo," Bobby huffed. 

"Dad." I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "You wanna reevaluate that statement?"

The flutter of wings caught my ear, and I turned to see an angel wearing a trench coat. Immediate anger flooded my system, and I charged, but a strong arm locked me in place before I could even take a step. 

"Where the hell were you?!" I screamed. "What the hell, Cas?!" 

Castiel approached me, hands up in a motion to appease. "Amy, I'm sorry. If I had been able to, of course I would have been here. My hands were tied. How are you, Bobby?"

"Alive. My head feels like shit, but otherwise I think I'm fine." 

"That's good to hear."

"Cas, she's right. Where were you?" Dean asked calmly, his arm still holding me back from decking the angel in front of me. 

"It truthfully doesn't matter. If it did, I would tell you, Dean." 

He nodded. "Fine. Maybe you can answer this, then. Why did it take so long for him to wake up?"

Cas shook his head. "I do not know."

"Does anyone know anything?!" I shouted. "I mean damn. Dad has no idea what that demon wanted. Cas doesn't know why it affected him like this. We don't know where the _hell_ you were." A snarl spread on my lips at the last statement. "So please, what _do_ we know before I freaking lose it?!" 

"Okay. Why don't you and I take a walk." Dean began dragging me out of the house, away from the angel I wanted to dick punch. We were a few hundred feet away from the house when Dean grabbed my wrist, stopping me. "What is it with you and Cas? This feud has been going on for what, 2 years now? What the hell did he do to you?"

"He's never around when we need him, Dean! When _I_ need him..." My voice faded on the last word. 

Realization spread through Dean's eyes, and he nodded, flicking his tongue quickly to wet his lips. "Right. That was 2 years ago, wasn't it." He paused, thinking over the correct words to use. "Look, Amy. I know it's probably still raw, but you have to forgive him and move on. That's what family does. And like it or not, Cas is our family now. Yeah, he's still a dick. We're all dicks. But...Hey, look at me." He took my chin and forced eye contact. "But I'm still here. Sam is still here. So is Bobby. Yeah, it came close, but in the end, Cas came through. I've had times when I didn't trust that angel either, but he always comes around. It's been 2 years, Amy. It's time to let it go."

I knew Dean was right. However, knowing someone is right and doing the right thing are very different. I still held a grudge against Castiel for not being there when I needed him the most. All three of the people who were family to me came within a millimeter of dying. And, after praying and praying and praying, Castiel was almost too late to do anything about it. 

"Amy." 

"I know," I said, staring at the ground, arms crossed over my chest. "Just...Damn angels." 

Dean smiled and breathed a laugh. "Yeah, I know. But there are worse angels out there. We both know that. Cas is on our side, and he always will be. Come here." 

He pulled me into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of my head. I wrapped my arms around him and grabbed fistfuls of his flannel shirt, clinging to him for dear life. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, trying to ease the still rampant emotions flooding through me. 

"Well, speak of the devil." 

I separated myself from Dean and looked at the figure walking toward us. 

"Amy, can I speak with you?" Castiel's eyes pleaded, begged for a chance at reconciliation. 

I nodded without saying a word, and Dean kissed my temple in reassurance before leaving the angel and I alone. 

"Amy, what can I do for you to forgive me? This rift between us has gone on far too long." 

"Do you know why it exists in the first place?"

Cas sighed. "Yes, I do. Believe me, Amy, if there had been a way for me to get to you sooner, I would have. If I had known just how bad it truly was..."

"How many times do I have to pray, Cas?! What part of, 'They're dying Castiel. Please save them,' doesn't convey a dire situation?!" 

He stared at me, mouth slightly agape. "Amy, I never heard you pray those words. I don't know why, but I never did." 

"Yeah, well..." The next words would have torn Castiel even more, so I left them unsaid. 

"Amy, please. You're like a sister to me. Family forgives family and they move on. Could you find it within yourself to forgive me?"

A million 'no's' rang through my mind, but a single 'yes' whispered through the noise. Dean's words replayed, and his reasoning was difficult to argue with. Castiel had broken my trust, and I knew he had broken Dean's a few times, but still...Cas was Cas, and he was like a brother to the boys. Whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not, he was a brother to me as well. So, I nodded. "Okay." 

I had never seen someone so relieved. Castiel hugged me so much tighter than he ever had before. "Thank you," he whispered. 

When he let me go, I shoved him playfully. "That doesn't mean I trust you." Although I said it with a smile.

He grinned back. "Baby steps."

"Baby steps."

"Alright, Cas, you done being all over my girl?" Dean sarcastically called from the porch. 

"Didn't I tell you a long time ago she was off limits?" Bobby yelled from the house. "That's my daughter, you know!" 

"You didn't even know about her till she showed up on your doorstep, old man!" Dean walked into the house to carry on the fake argument they had at least once a week. All in all, Bobby had given up on keeping Dean and I away from each other. 

"Yeah, well if I _did_ know about her, she'd _still_ be off limits! Idjit!" 

My dysfunctional family. They made me laugh, cry, stress, and pray for their safety. But, all in all, I wouldn't change a damn thing. And I was thoroughly convinced that if they had known about me all along, all of this would still be the same. Not a thing rearranged or changed. We would still act like the crazy, mashed together family we were. After all, family is the only thing that matters in the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading! This may not have been the most action-packed story, but that wasn't the point. It was about finding family, no matter who they may be, and holding onto that. Because nothing in this world can replace family, blood or not.  
> Have an amazing day, my friends! And see you in the next one. <3 :)


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy endings are a lie.

The trauma team shoved the three of us back, away from the man laid on the a hospital bed. It felt as if all air had been completely knocked from my lungs, and I gulped to ease the strain. My entire body shook. Sam and Dean stared, and the green-eyed Hunter that never cried had moisture lining his eyes. Sammy pressed his thumb to the the scar on his left hand, trying to bring himself back to reality. But this wasn't a hallucination. This was real, and, for once, I wanted it to be one of Sam's delusions. None of us dared to move, terrified if we took a step, Bobby would slip away. 

When the doctor told us he was stable, all of us sighed a breath of relief, but the overhanging possibility still crawled through everyone's minds. I glanced toward the trauma bay. Tubes hung from his mouth, monitors hooked up to sensors on his chest, a bandage wrapped around his head. I had never seen Dad this weak before. This vulnerable. Helpless. Dean turned away, his face exuding the same emotions and thoughts that we all had. 

There was nothing we could do. The situation was grim. And losing Bobby would rip us apart. 

Dean raised his eyes to meet Sam's, and the man that had experienced so much pain, so much loss, in his life conveyed his heart at that moment. Bobby was more than uncle to Dean and Sam, and we all knew it. Bobby may have been my dad by blood, but that man had adopted Sam and Dean. We all knew it. Complete heartbreak dripped from every pore. Sheer desperation. But we all knew if we went and did something stupid, Bobby would kill us. 

None of us strayed far from the room. Sam kept pressing his scar. Dean paced or leaned against the wall. I resorted to crossing my arms and scratching a dent into my skin.

_Come on, Dad. You have to come back to me. You just gotta._

The bond between Bobby and I had grown exponentially since first meeting him. Since first learning what he did for a living. I thought he was crazy, completely off his rocker, but all of that faded. Yeah, Dad could be a grumpy old bastard sometimes, but he had earned it with what his life had been like. A drunk for a father, wife possessed after having a horrible fight, killing his wife...The man had the right to be angry. But he still held the ability to see the positive side of things - even when we were batting zero. He and Dean would have one argument a week, at least, of the fact I was Dad's daughter and I was off limits. It always ended with Dad calling Dean an idjit or an ass - whichever one fit the bill that day. 

He had taught me everything about hunting, but he damn well made sure there was some sort of normal among it all. Even if that was a date night with Dean or all of us watching a movie on Bobby's out-of-date television. Somehow a popcorn fight always broke out. We would all end up laughing. It wasn't even the big moments that mattered. The smallest, seemingly insignificant things flooded my mind. Bobby taking Gibson out every morning. Making sure there was enough cereal left for one more bowl, and he always left it for me. Suggesting cases on my favorite monsters. Giving me new reading material when I had finished my self-imposed assignments. The small smile of reassurance he managed to show every day. Always getting two beers out of the fridge. It was the little things that mattered. Who cared about saving my life. That wasn't what I would miss if Dad were...

I had zoned out, and when I came out of my head, Sam and Dean were talking to the doctor. All I managed to hear was the doctor saying, "But...I don't want to give you false hope. He's far from out of the woods. Most of the time, cases like this..."

"They die." Sam finished. 

The doctor stared, not responding for a moment. "Right now it comes down to him. I'll keep you updated." 

When he walked away, the brothers took a series of deep breaths, trying to stabilize every nerve in their bodies. I didn't move from my place in the chair, but I blinked away the beginning formations of tears. They turned around to see me staring at them. Dean's expression dropped. Saddened. He scowled, shaking his head, pure horror in his eyes. Sam sat next to me and wrapped me in his strong arms, tightly squeezing me against him. 

"I know, Amy. I know." 

He didn't have to say what I knew was on the tip of his tongue: We're all scared. 

Then, a short man wearing a tan suit and holding a clipboard approached us. He wore glasses, and he seemed a little too eager considering the circumstances. 

"Excuse me," he said. "Sorry to interrupt. Is one of you Robert Singer's next of kin?" 

We all stared at him as if he were stupid. 

He continued, saying, "We know this is a stressful time."

Before I could stand, Dean nodded. "That would be all of us." 

"Right. I need to speak with one of you."

"What's this about?"

"If you could come with me, sir." 

I reached for Dean's arm, stopping him. "You don't have to do this."

"I know, baby." He knelt in front of me, placing a hand on my cheek, and I leaned into his touch, wanting any sort of comfort I could find. "But I'm not making you do this. I've got it." He kissed my forehead and I closed my eyes. "Watch her, Sammy."

"Yeah."

Dean disappeared around the corner as he followed the clipboard man. He cared just as much about Bobby as the rest of us. He was in just as much pain and worried with me and Sam. Yet he still dealt with the nonsense. I knew he was angry; I could see it in the way he carried himself, in his eyes. But Dean was still Dean, and he would handle the difficult things. 

"Sammy," I mumbled. "Sammy, what if he doesn't make it...What's it going to do? To you? To Dean? What's going to happen to us?"

"We'll keep going, because that's what Bobby would want us to do. Hell, he'd probably kick us right now if he saw us like this." 

"Even though he'd be doing the same thing if it were one of us." 

"Exactly."

With a deep breath, I got up. "I'm going to go make sure things are okay with Dean and...short dude." 

Sam nodded, his brow furrowed. "Yeah. Okay."

When I rounded a few corners, I found Dean and clipboard man standing at the end of a hallway. Dean's arms were crossed, defensive. Clipboard man acted as if he were trying to reason with the much taller man in front of him. Then, Dean stuck his finger in the man's face, squaring his shoulders and feet. His anger was coming to a head. I quickened my pace. Dean's body language became more and more aggressive, and I could hear his words as I approached. 

"Why are you talking to me like he's gonna die, huh?" Dean argued. "I do my job! Do your jobs! Save him!" 

The clipboard man shrunk into himself and backed into the door behind him. "Of course they're doing everything they can."

Then, without warning, Dean raised his fist. I gasped, thinking he was going to punch the short man, but his fist connected with the glass of the door behind him. It shattered. Clipboard man jumped, reasonably frightened. 

Dean shifted his weight, back and forth, then ducked his head and pointed down the hall. "Walk away from me."

The man stared momentarily. 

"Now!" Dean shouted. 

As clipboard man rushed away, Dean remained in his place, staring at the ground. I was halfway down the hall. 

"Dean!" I called, a corrective tone in my voice. 

He snapped his head up, eyes connecting with mine. Pure, unadulterated rage billowed in his expression. He opened and closed his mouth, words failing him. His jaw was clenched and his hands still balled into fists. As I approached him, I saw a smear of blood in the shattered glass of the punched door. 

"He was asking about organ donation, Amy." 

I swallowed, holding back my own frustrations and stress. "I know that's not what you want to talk about, I know you don't want to face reality." Dean shifted his gaze, staring past my shoulder. "Hey, I don't want to either. What, you think this is easy for me?! My own father getting shot in the fucking brains?! Look, I know Bobby is like a dad to both you and Sam. I know how hard this is for you, how angry you are, and how much you want to kill Dick Roman right now. Believe me, Dean, he is number one on my hit list too, but you can't go around punching hospital doors!" 

"It was the door or his stupid-ass face, Amy." 

Comparatively, the door was better. 

Dean sighed. "I need some air." 

He turned and walked to the hospital door, shoving it open. As he stormed away, I looked at the ceiling and took a series of deep breaths. I thought it better to leave Dean to calm down, so I returned to where I had left Sammy. 

"How'd it go?" he asked when I sat back down. 

I shook my head. "Not good. Dean's cooling off."

"He didn't hurt anyone, did he?"

"Only a door."

As Sam and I waited, he kept pressing his thumb into the scar of his left hand. And I didn't take my eyes off the trauma bay Bobby occupied. 

* * *

Dean retrieved the cheap vending-machine coffee, recoiling from the taste as he took a sip. Sam leaned against the wall and stared at Bobby while I did the same from a little closer distance. I only moved when I heard Dean's voice behind me. 

"Dick Roman was out there." 

Sam's expression switched from concern to vengeance. "What? What happened?"

"Nothing...for now. It was just a friggin' staring contest. That was about it. What's the update?"

"The swelling's down a little. They took him off sedation. Apparently, he - he starting fighting his tube, so they pulled it out, and he's breathing on his own."

Dean grasped for the positive, needing something good. "That's good right? Is that good?"

"Yeah. Well, doctor said best-case scenario."

"All right. So, when they gonna take the bullet out?"

"Dean, th-they're not even - they're not even gonna try that. Not yet."

"What does that mean?"

"The word's 'abrading,' I think."

The older Winchester rolled his eyes. "English."

"Cutting out the dead brain tissue."

Dean slowly looked to Bobby. 

"That's if the doctor even thinks it's worth the risk," Sam continued. Sammy glanced at me and pushed himself away from the wall as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Can I talk to you?"

The brothers walked out of earshot. I knew from Sam's expression what they were going to talk about. It was the same subject I had barely touched in the hallway with Dean. The reality that Bobby might not make it. None of us liked that option. 

"Why?!" Dean suddenly shouted, but I couldn't hear Sam's response. "You want to hug and, and say we we made it through it when Dad died?!" Dean shook his head and began walking away from his brother. "We've been through enough. Enough!" Dean paused in front of the door that led to the main lobby. He glanced at his brother before moving his gaze to me. If there was ever a man breaking, it was Dean Winchester in that very moment. He shoved through the door and away from the current situation.   
  


Sam sat in the blue chairs once more, pressing his palms together and raising his fingertips to his lips before he pressed his scar once more, his tormented eyes staring at the floor. I leaned back against the wall, staring at my father, begging every power to bring him back to life - to heal him. Because I didn't want to lose my dad. And so the boys didn't have to lose another family member. 

* * *

A doctor was running instructions to a staff member as she walked past us to Bobby's room. The three of us gravitated to her, needing whatever new information that had risen. 

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam said, interrupting the doctor. "What's happening?"

"He's showing signs of responsiveness." 

We all sighed in quasi-relief. 

"We're taking him up for surgery. If you want to see him, I'd squeeze in there quick."

She didn't have to tell us twice. We immediately flooded to Bobby's room as nurses and staff prepped for whatever procedure was about to happen. I had never seen Dad so pale, so helpless. His breathing was steady as was his heart-rate. For once that day, we had an inkling of hope that everything was going to be okay. 

The brothers searched their minds for something to say, and I did the same. However, nothing seemed adequate in a moment's time. What _could_ I say in this moment? Thank you for letting me find you, for letting me stay, for making me family even when you didn't have to. You're more than I could have hoped for. And I love you, old man. But none of it left my mouth. 

The doctor stood in the doorway and gently urged, "Sorry, we need to get moving." 

"Right," Sam mumbled. 

"Yeah." 

Sam, knowing his brother couldn't utter a word of what was going through his mind, talked to Bobby. "Hey, um...Bobby, um..." Sammy took Dad's hand. "Just...thanks...for everything." 

Dean just stared, and I saw his heart aching. His silent plea. His need for Bobby to end up on the life-side of things. I reached out and grabbed his hand, desperately needing any reassurance, and giving it to someone who needed it. He squeezed my smaller hand in his, tighter than he probably knew. But I didn't care. 

"All right," the doctor spoke. "Please, step back."

At that, Bobby's hand raised, taking Sam's. 

"Wait, wait, wait, wait. Stop. His eyes are open."

"Bobby?" Dean said. 

"Dad!" 

Bobby's eyes were wide, and he shoved the mask from his face. He was trying to speak, but it was all jumbled. His desperation was clear, though. 

"Don't talk. Don't talk. A pen! I...here. Here! What is it?"

Bobby breathed heavily as he took the marker from Dean and wrote a series of numbers on Sam's hand. As he wrote the last number, he smiled, letting his hand fall. He raised his head, looking at all of us, and his eyes shown with deep pride. Bobby grinned at his two adopted boys and the daughter he never knew until she showed up unannounced. The man may have never wanted kids, but he had three in front of him now. I felt him convey everything in that single look. He couldn't be any prouder of his family. And he loved all of us with everything he had. 

Bobby grinned as one word croaked past his lips. 

"Idjits."

His face went slack. His head lied back on the pillow.

And the heart monitor flatlined. 

"Bobby?" Dean called. "Hey!" 

Once again we were shoved from the room. Staff and medical personnel ran past us, but the most numb feeling fell over us. And it was all a blur.

* * *

Another whiskey bottle sat empty on the table. Another glass-full burned down my throat. Had I moved from this spot? Did it really even matter? 

"Amy, you need anything?" someone asked. 

But I didn't really hear them. I just picked up another bottle of whiskey and poured another glass. 

Eventually I noticed the world around me still moved when Dean grabbed the alcohol from my hand and set it on the kitchen counter of the cabin we were forced to occupy. 

"Amy, come on. Let's get you to the shower." 

I didn't really know what was happening. One moment I was at the table and the next I was under running water. 

Then I woke up on the couch, a blanket over my shoulders, and my head in Dean's lap. He held a pen and paper in his hands; the numbers Dad had written on Sam's palm were scratched into the paper. 

"Hey," Dean said gently as I raised my head. 

"Hi." 

"Sleep okay?"

"I don't know."

"Well you've been asleep for two days."

"Oh. Sorry."

He brushed away a loose strand of hair. "Don't worry about it. It hasn't been the easiest few weeks." 

"Weeks?"

"It's been about a month, Ames." 

Sam then walked through the door with armfuls of groceries. 

"Amy, hey." He grinned at me, although it wasn't the happy Sam smile I was accustomed to. "You're awake."

"So it would seem," I replied. 

As Sam put away the groceries, I stared at the paper in Dean's hands. 

"Need some help?" I asked, needing my mind to focus on anything else but the obvious.

"Definitely."

Though my family was a little smaller, we were still together. And Bobby Singer would always live on. His legacy couldn't be broken. 

And his kids would still kick ass on his behalf. 


End file.
